Twenty Four Seven
by RacingRosso
Summary: Nick/Yvonne: It's been three years since she was injured during the riots, three years since he'd lost her and he hasn't stopped missing her every single day. When he thought that things couldn't get any worse, a familiar face returns, throwing everything that he thought had been the truth about that night up into the air. Sometimes the truth just really is too painful to bear.
1. Chapter 1: Nick

**Hello! Yeah, new story time. This idea has been bugging me for a while now and it wouldn't leave me alone so I thought the best thing to do was to get it down on paper and it's sort of developed from there. I haven't watched the riot episodes yet so I don't know what happened other than the bits and pieces I read in the build-up to it. Hence why some details may not fit with what actually happened. That's ok though because this is fiction and for this to work it's probably easier for me to put my own spin on it.  
I've never written from Nick's point of view by the way and I was trying to portray another side to their relationship – a side that has been hinted at but we've never seen. It may or may not have worked. Basically with this fic, the only thing you need to know is that my brain works in mysterious ways, let's put it like that. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Any recognisable details belong to Casualty/the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. The song is Let It Be and that belongs to The Beatles. It is a great song though, you could listen to it whilst reading this chapter, if you wanted to.  
For Gemma – thanks for listening to my random rambles about this fic haha. Hope you like it!  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 1: Nick  
**

* * *

_When I find myself in times of trouble,  
Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom,  
Let it be.  
And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me,  
Speaking words of wisdom,  
Let it be.  
_

* * *

Three years. Three whole years. It sounded even longer to him the more he mulled the amount of time over that had passed since the riots. The amount of time that had slipped away since she'd been injured in the riots. Since she'd gone. She had been strong enough to survive the initial injury that she'd sustained in the riots but once they'd examined her, they had found other injuries. She had suffered severe head injuries and those coupled with various other injuries had meant that although she had fought for a while – she'd even shown signs of getting better at one point which was why the decision had been taken to transfer her to a hospital that dealt primarily with neurological injuries – she had lost the battle not long after she'd been transferred.

Three years. There was no way to make it sound any shorter and it was even longer if you multiplied three hundred and sixty five days by three to work out the amount of days had passed. That simple sum equalled one thousand and ninety-five days. Three years sounded long but one thousand and ninety-five days sounded like an eternity. The only thing he was sure of was that it was a long, long time. In theory, three years didn't sound that long but in practice, it was a long time. It was a long time to miss someone.

He missed her, that was the truth. He missed everything about her. Her good points, her bad points. Her habits, even the ones that had grated on him when they'd been together. He missed her smile, her laughter, the ways her grey eyes used to sparkle with amusement or mischief. Her pushiness, her dedication to her job and he missed the way she used to walk around the E.D like she owned the place. He even missed the way, when they were alone, that she would look at him whenever she wanted something. He remembered, with a fond smile, that she always had got her own way.

They said it got easier with time. That the pain, the unexplained guilt would slowly ebb away until it was a little more bearable. Until it was like a dull ache rather than a sharp pain but it hadn't. It hadn't diminished at all. It was still there, every day of his life, slowly eating away at him. Slowly consuming him. He'd even gone over everything in his head since he'd lost her, somehow hoping it would make a difference. It didn't. Sitting around, wondering whether things would have been different if they hadn't argued hadn't helped at all. In fact, it had just made things worse. If the riots had never happened, he wondered, would things be different? He certainly liked to think that they would be.

Her colleagues had awkwardly offered their support after her death with a couple of them who had been closer to her visiting him occasionally but the visits had meant long silences where neither of them had spoken. They hadn't known each other well, she'd been their boss and they hadn't been sure what they were supposed to say around him or to him. They hadn't even bonded over their memories of her but he'd suspected that had been partly down to him. Then the visits had stopped suddenly and he'd been relieved. He hadn't wanted to talk to anyone that reminded him of her. It had been too painful. It still was.

Before the riots, before all of this had happened, back when everything had been fine, when they'd been happy, he hadn't realised how much he would miss her if she wasn't there. She'd slowly become a bigger part of his life and he had been so used to seeing her all of the time that he hadn't even considered what it would be like if she wasn't. Then the unthinkable had happened and she wasn't around any more. He missed her, he really missed her but he couldn't quite bring himself to admit it out loud. They hadn't known each other for too long, only about six months or so but in those six months, he'd slowly but surely begun to get to know the person she really was. The person behind the police officer, behind that professional mask. He had liked that person. In fact he would even go as far as to say he had loved her. Perhaps he still did.

She was...had been different but it had been a good difference. He wasn't even sure if that would make sense to anyone aside from him. She had been quirky, annoying at times – more so to those who hadn't really known her. Not like he had. He really hadn't realised how much he would miss the little things that made up her personality, the tiny things that had made her who she was. He supposed that when someone died, you did miss everything about them. Even the little things, the things you hadn't even realised you'd picked up on at the time.

The keys. He still had the keys she'd given him even though it was three years since she'd died. The key-ring with his initials on it was still attached to her keys and they were a part of his keys. They had been since she'd given them to him but more so now. It hurt, a sort of dull ache in his heart every time he caught a glimpse of them but in a way, it sort of helped. It was like the message. He'd found a message on his answer machine after she died and he'd kept it, occasionally replaying it when the house seemed too quiet and he missed her too much. It sounded morbid but it did help. After her death, he had been worried that he was going to forget her, that the memories would fade with time. He had been worried that he was going to forget how she looked, forget the sound of her voice but he'd soon come to realise that there were so many things around him that reminded him of her. She was still there, still alive in his memories and that was the way it should be.

Nick sighed as he pulled himself out of his thoughts, inwardly cursing himself for being so soppy. If she was here now, she would probably tease him about it. But she wasn't. There was no-one to tease him, no-one to share those moments with. Even he and Zoe had drifted further apart since Yvonne's death which he hadn't anticipated. He glanced around his office, his gaze soon drifting back to his desk where his keys sat, glinting in the light. The one Yvonne had given him stood out. It glinted in the light, his initials shining. He could still remember, word for word, that moment when she'd trusted him enough to give him a spare key to her place. It should have been a significant step in their relationship and it had been, at the time. It just seemed awfully cruel to him that less than a month later from that defining moment, she hadn't been there any more. He leant back in his chair, letting that one memory consume him.

* * *

_"Oh, hey!" Yvonne stopped him as he got out of the car, suddenly remembering that she had something to give him._

_"Hmm?" He questioned as he turned and leant back in the car. She was fiddling around with her bag, getting something out._

_"If I'm not back, let yourself in." She instructed as she handed him a set of silver keys with a black leather keyring attached. "And if you're lucky, I'll cook."_

_He smiled, his eyes meeting hers as he leant further towards her, their lips meeting in a gentle, tender kiss. It was a brief moment and when they pulled apart slightly, he leant back in to steal another kiss._

_She laughed, pulling away from him slightly so she could make shooing movements with her hands. "Go on, go."_

_"I'm going." He insisted, his tone light as he backed out of the car, taking a look at her. She was smiling, grey eyes sparkling with amusement._

* * *

The sound of heels approaching his office door pulled him firmly out of his memories and he sat up properly in his chair, his ears tuned into that sound. His heart leapt in hope and he found himself expecting his office door to open and for her to walk in. Minutes later, his office door did indeed open and he almost sighed as he came face to face with Zoe. "Incoming RTA." She informed him simply, her unspoken words making it clear that they could do with his presence in the E.D. Nick nodded, indicating that he'd follow her down. He watched as she backed out of his office and closed the door, heading back to the department. For a moment, his office was filled with the sound of her heels clicking on the hard floor until she was gone and silence resumed once more.

He sighed deeply, hating the way that every time he heard the sound of heels, he'd still forget for a minute that it wouldn't be Yvonne walking over to him or walking into his office. It would be someone else because she wasn't here any longer. It had been three years and yet there were still moments where he'd forget that that the sound of heels, someone calling his name wouldn't be her. Part of him wished these moments would go because it was exhausting. Hearing something simple like the sound of heels, hoping and then being bitterly disappointed within the space of a few moments. Feeling such a range of emotions in such a short space of time was exhausting both physically and mentally but he knew that these moments probably wouldn't be going away any time soon; they'd already lasted for three years.

As he collected together his stethoscope and placed his phone in his desk, his mind unexpectedly went back to the visit they'd had from the police earlier. He'd not hung around to speak to them any longer than necessary because they had been busy and because her replacement had been there. The new superintendent seemed to be more detached and although none of them really knew her because she didn't visit as frequently as Yvonne had – he was now starting to realise that there had been more than one reason for Yvonne continuing to return to the E.D even though she'd had a perfectly capable team – she still seemed to be more detached and he found it harder to like her or even get on with her. He knew that Yvonne had been cold and detached at times and there had been times when her behaviour had baffled him but it had never been on this scale. Thinking about it, he never had found out why Yvonne had sometimes behaved the way she did. There was no use in thinking about it now, he never was going to find out – that much was fairly obvious. Part of him did wonder whether the reasons he kept finding to dislike the new superintendent was because she was Yvonne's replacement. He didn't like himself for doing it and he wasn't trying to make excuses for the off-hand way he treated her but it did seem to happen subconsciously.

Nick rubbed his hand over his face tiredly as he realised his thoughts had gone off on a tangent, again. It definitely seemed to be happening more and more these days especially when he thought about her. He exhaled deeply, forcing himself to think back to what had happened when the police had visited earlier and he frowned as he remembered something he hadn't even realised he'd clocked at the time. They'd been acting strange, both of them. Especially towards him. Stranger than usual. They'd been on edge, nervous almost which was something he hadn't expected for them. It was like they were making a concerted effort to act normal which in turn was making them act abnormally. Why on earth they were acting like this now, he had no idea and he reckoned that he probably wouldn't find out the reasons behind it unless it was something of tantamount importance. Then he'd probably find out. Unless he made an effort to find out himself. If it was important and involved any of his staff – which, he suspected it might seeing as they'd only been acting oddly around him and his staff for the last day or so – then he wanted to know. He supposed that if it really was that important, he'd find out one way or another.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, realising once again that he'd been thinking for far too long and he really should have been down in the E.D by now, giving his staff a hand. He slung his stethoscope around his neck and headed for the door, putting Yvonne tenderly to the back of his mind for now so that he could concentrate fully on the job in hand with no distractions. He couldn't afford distractions, not in his line of work. In medicine, especially emergency medicine, distractions could mean mistakes and mistakes could mean that someone lost their life. That was not something he wanted to happen, not if he could help it.

* * *

_And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,  
There will be an answer, let it be.  
But though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see,  
There will be answer, let it be.  
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.  
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.  
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.  
And when the night is cloudy, Mother Mary shines on me,  
Shine until tomorrow, let it be.  
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me,  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.  
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be.  
_

* * *

**There you go. The next chapter is half written so should be up shortly but don't quote me on that. Hope you liked it but even if you didn't, feel free to let me know. **


	2. Chapter 2: Yvonne

**Firstly, wow, I wasn't expecting such a massive response to this. Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter – I'm really pleased you enjoyed it. This chapter is a little different and could be quite confusing but it will all make sense shortly. I appear to like confusing you all; sorry about that! I've tried to portray a different side to Yvonne in this chapter, hopefully that's worked. Again, like I said previously, I haven't seen the episodes yet so there could be some details that aren't consistent with what actually happened. It will make sense soon if it doesn't already, just bear with me for the moment. My brain works in odd ways, I think that's all you need to remember haha :)  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Casualty belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 2: Yvonne  
**

* * *

Yvonne Rippon sighed, leaning back against the dark coloured kitchen cabinet as the familiar throbbing in her head began to start up once more. Ever since she'd fractured her skull during the riots, she had suffered with headaches. They had been a lot worse than this at first but now they tended to be more manageable, easier to cope with. Unless she got herself worked up or stressed and then they tended to go downhill rapidly but she suspected it was fairly normal for headaches to worsen under stress. The fracture she'd suffered was healed now, it had taken a while but the bones had fused themselves back together and now she had no other side effects aside from the headaches which hadn't become any less frequent, she'd just got used to them. She was lucky that she'd avoided any brain damage, she knew that much although she didn't exactly feel very lucky.

She poured herself a glass of water and padded through to the lounge, curling up on the sofa as her thoughts drifted back to Nick and the life she'd had in Holby before all of this. She wondered what he was doing now, whether he was happy, whether he had anyone else. Whether anything had changed there. She hoped he was happy, whatever he may be doing now. All she wanted was for him to be happy. She hated the way things had turned out and she really did wish she could turn the clock back. If she could, there would be so many things she would have done differently but all that didn't matter. Not really. What's done was done, she couldn't change what had happened; she just had to find a way forward. **  
**

She couldn't remember much about what had happened during the riots. If she really thought about it, she remembered being in pain, lots of it but other than that, her memories were hazy. She wasn't sure if it was her mind protecting her from the memories she wasn't ready to deal with yet or whether it was down to something else completely that meant she couldn't recall much of what had happened. She could remember the moment that she'd woken up in a strange place and every instinct had told her that something was wrong. She remembered crying out for Nick but he hadn't been there and he'd never arrived. During her first few weeks of recovery, she'd assumed that he would come and see her but he hadn't. It was only when she'd been so exhausted, so tired of everything, of all the uncertainty that it had all come spilling out. She'd frightened herself and then she had found out why Nick hadn't been there. She could recall that she'd felt vaguely better when she'd learnt it hadn't been his fault he wasn't there but that feeling hadn't lasted for long. She'd been frightened, alone, in a strange place, surrounded by strange people and struggling to deal with her patchy memories of the incident that had landed her there.

Now it was time to go back, time to face up to her demons. Things had settled down in Holby since the riots or so she'd been told. She was struggling to deal with the few bits and pieces she remembered of the riots although she had initially thought that she had been doing a decent job of keeping it under lock and key. Then they had mentioned that they could see she wasn't coping and she'd felt disappointed...ashamed almost. She hated the idea that people who didn't even know her could see how she was failing to deal with the few fragments of memory that she had. It had been a few weeks later that the inevitable suggestion of going back to Holby had come. Initially, she'd been resistant, not wanting to go back; afraid of turning everything on its head but the people around her had kept suggesting it and eventually she'd agreed, rather tentatively, to go back. The anxiety she had felt since agreeing had diminished at all even though it was almost time for her to make that journey back. She wasn't sure she was doing the right thing but somewhere, inside her, she knew that she needed to attempt to deal with everything and it made sense to her, that in order to do that, going back to where it had all happened would be a good first step.

She had booked herself into a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Holby for a week or so until she figured out where on earth to start. She knew that she had to approach Nick at some point, she had to speak to him but she just wasn't sure what his reaction was going to be. All she wanted was to talk to him, she wasn't expecting anything more from him. After all, the only reason that they were no longer together was because of her. She had died, hadn't she?

* * *

The next few days passed incredibly quickly, in fact they felt like they'd gone quicker than most days over the last three years had, and all too soon she was ready to leave. The few possessions that she had gained over the last three years had been packed safely into her bag and she didn't have any loose ends to tie up where she was. Everything she needed an answer to, an end to was back in Holby. She still wasn't sure, even after a couple of days of doing barely anything but thinking about her impending departure, whether she was doing the right thing and if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't really looking forward to going back at all. She was scared that being back in familiar surroundings would cause the memories to come flooding back but she knew that she had to face up to it all sooner rather than later if she was ever going to move on.

She glanced around briefly, quickly satisfying herself that she hadn't left anything behind before she took a deep breath to calm herself and hitched her bag properly on to her shoulder. She left the little flat that she'd learnt to call home over the last few years and stepped out into the warm sunshine, pulling the door closed behind her. She slid the keys into her pocket and began to walk down the path, deciding that the best course of action for now would be to walk to the train station. It wasn't far, only about ten, fifteen minutes or so and since she had plenty of time before her train was due, she hoped that it might help her feel less stressed about her impending return if she could clear her head before she got on that train.

* * *

It hadn't taken as long as she had thought it would to walk to the train station and soon she was on the platform, having bought and paid for her ticket. A fleeting glance at the monitor that informed passengers of train arrivals and departures told her that she still had fifteen minutes or so to kill until her train was due to arrive. The train that would take her out of one nightmare and quite possibly deposit her back into another.

She walked over to a bench and sat down, rubbing her head absent-mindedly. Her headaches always did seem to start up at the most inconvenient of times and she was worried that this one might be worse than her last one that she'd experienced. She knew that stressing only made them worse so she took a couple of deep breaths and dug into her bag, pulling out a bottle of water. She took a few sips, realising that she wasn't even sure if she had any painkillers on her. She just hoped it didn't develop any further. Apparently it was normal to experience headaches whether they be mild or severe after a head injury, more so if stress was a contributing factor after the injury had healed. She wasn't entirely convinced, however, she didn't exactly call feeling like your head might explode – and these headaches were milder than she had experienced previously - on practically a daily basis normal.

She sighed, pushing all thoughts of her headache way and soon they returned to Nick a they often did whenever she had nothing else to occupy her mind. Thinking of him was definitely preferable to stressing herself by trying to remember any more details about the riots. She was already haunted by the brief fragments that she could remember so she wasn't sure why she wanted to remember any more. She just assumed that it was because she hated not feeling in control and not being able to remember details about the incident that had changed her life, left her feeling quite helpless. It was a feeling she definitely didn't like and she'd found that the only way to cope was to push everything to the back of her mind. Or think of Nick. Thinking of Nick hurt, thoughts of him reminded her of what she'd lost but in all honesty, it didn't hurt half as much to think of him as those other vague memories did.

She knew that she thought of this a lot, in fact she was fairly positive that she kept coming back round to this way of thinking but she did wonder whether he was actually still in Holby or not. After all, a lot could have happened in three years. It was an awfully long time. People changed, people moved away, so many things could change in that space of time. If he was still there, what was he doing? She imagined that he was probably still at the hospital, still the clinical lead and he still had his office. Maybe things wouldn't have changed that much. She wondered whether he'd moved on from her or not – it hurt to think that he might have – but she didn't like thinking that he was hurting. Especially when she could have put a stop to his pain. She knew that if he had moved on, she wouldn't mind. It would hurt like hell for a while, she knew it would but she couldn't expect him to stay single forever especially when he had a distorted view of what had happened. She still wasn't sure who's idea it had been to tell Nick that or whether it had simply been a mistake, perhaps something had been lost in communication. They had been trying to protect her, she understood that but it didn't necessarily mean she liked the whole situation. Every step that had been taken, had been to protect her and although she knew that, she still couldn't help but dislike them intensely for what they'd done. They had effectively taken matters, her life, into their own hands and assumed to know what she needed. She had felt like a child, like she wasn't trusted to make her own decisions about her life.

If she was brutally honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure what she was expecting to gain by going back. She hadn't been coping away from Holby so maybe they would be right, maybe going back there would force her to confront her demons. She secretly thought it was quite a brutal way of making someone face up to their fears but if it worked then it worked. If it did work, she couldn't fault them. She was tired of being the way she was, exhausted of not being like she used to be. She just wanted things to go back to normal and although she knew that normal probably didn't exist any more, she just wanted it all to stop. For the pain, emotional and physical, to just go away.

She still wasn't sure how she was expecting Nick to react. As far as she knew, there would be a few, select, people who would know by now what had really happened – they sort of had to know, seeing as she was on her way back – but whether anyone would have told Nick or mentioned it to him, she didn't know. If he didn't know then she was aware that it was going to come as a massive shock and she was fully expecting him to be unable to deal with the whole situation. In fact, she wouldn't even blame him if he didn't want her there. It was an unusual situation to be in..actually, scrap that, it was a rare situation to be in. How many people came back from the dead? She knew that technically, she hadn't actually been dead, but to those people who mattered to her, like Nick for example, then being told something had happened only to discover, years later that another thing had actually happened was going to be incredibly difficult to deal with. She just hoped that he would let her explain, well explain as fully as she could. Even she wasn't sure how much she actually knew about the whole, rather odd, situation. Nobody had exactly been very forthcoming when she'd bugged them for information and although she knew that they had wanted to protect her, she wished they hadn't. It might sound ungrateful but she was fed up of people trying to protect her.

The tinny, rather bored sounded announcement informing her that her train was approaching the platform broke into her rather confusing, incoherent thoughts a few moments later and she glanced up to see the train she needed to get on heading towards her. She exhaled deeply as she stood up, nerves swirling in her stomach. She walked over the platform, stopping a little way from the yellow line, waiting patiently as the train approached as she pushed everything to the back of her mind once again. There were some things that were better left until later. She could sort her thoughts out into a more coherent manner when she was back there but for now, she just wanted to keep her thoughts firmly in the present so she could concentrate on getting back to Holby.

She stepped on to the train a few seconds after the doors had opened, immediately going to sit in a window seat. No-one else was sitting in the little group of seats yet which was something she was immensely grateful for but she knew that as the journey wore on and it got later, the train would probably start to fill up pretty quickly. She placed her bag on the table, pulling out her phone and glancing at the photo she had set as her background. It was of her and Nick, it had been taken only a few days before the riots but it was the only thing she had to remind her of him. When she looked at it, it hurt but it did help when she could remember the good times, the times they'd been happy together.

Yvonne snapped her phone shut a few moments later as she felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Before all of this, tears would have been uncharacteristic but they seemed to fall all too often for her liking these days. She placed her phone back in her bag and leant back in her seat, closing her eyes. She just hoped that she wouldn't fall asleep – dozing was ok because her mind didn't try to relive the brief memories she had of the riots and she certainly didn't want to wake up in a state or very suddenly in a train full of people as she often woke now. That would be embarrassing.

* * *

An hour or so later, she opened her eyes, feeling disorientated for a moment or two. She sat still in her seat for a few moments to allow herself some time to remember what was going on. She glanced out of the window briefly to see scenery flashing past and it all came rushing back to her. Her eyes flicked up to the scrolling message board, nerves gripping her stomach as she was informed that there were only two more stops until Holby. She wasn't convinced she was doing the right thing, even less so now, but it was too late to turn back. She had to face it.

* * *

The last bit of the journey seemed to last forever but eventually, she shakily made her way off of the train, exhaling deeply as her eyes took in the sign on the platform. Holby City Train Station. She was back and now she felt like she wanted to run away as far as possible but she knew that she couldn't. She had to be strong now otherwise she wouldn't cope.

She walked through the station, handing her ticket to the guard who requested it. He nodded and handed it back to her and she scrunched it up, shoving it into her pocket. She had no idea why they gave it back to you once it was obvious you had completed your journey but it was something she didn't really care about, if she was honest. She was literally just clutching at simple, every day things to think about that would protect her, for the moment, from the thoughts that were threatening to take over, threatening to overwhelm her. She headed out of the station, coming to a stop outside. It was about 6pm and it was starting to get dark, the sun was just starting to go down.

Yvonne glanced to her left, knowing that if she started walking that way, it wouldn't be long before she ended up near the hospital. She should really be walking in the opposite direction but there was something about knowing the hospital wasn't far from her that tugged at her, made her want to go and have a look. Just to see what it was like now.

Swallowing, she attempted to push away the nerves that were causing that awful sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she began to walk down the street, clinging tightly to her bag. Doubts were circulating her mind, rushing round, making her wonder whether she was actually doing the right thing or not. She was even less sure now that she was here. Maybe the right thing would be to go before anyone knew she was back. She sighed deeply, knowing that whatever she did, she wouldn't be at peace with anything until she'd made some attempt to put things behind her. She continued walking, part of her hoping that she wouldn't see Nick, not yet at least.

She came to a halt, half an hour or so later, as the familiar grey building of the hospital came into sight. She glanced around the car park, biting her lip as she noticed Nick's car was sitting in his usual parking spot. He hadn't changed his car or his parking space in three years – perhaps things hadn't changed so much after all. Unable to help herself, she inched a little further forward until she was standing near enough to the E.D entrance to be able to see people coming and going but far enough away not to be noticed. Her eyes flicked around her surroundings, taking in every single little detail, rehearsing it and remembering it. The longer she stood there, just simply looking, the more it looked like nothing had changed. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, just that it would probably take her a while yet to figure that one out.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she had been stood there for – it could have been a matter of minutes or it could have been longer - when she stiffened, her heart leaping in recognition as she saw a familiar figure leave the emergency department. His scarf was wrapped loosely and rather untidily around his neck and her fingers ached to reach out and sort it for him but she remained still and silent, just watching him. Why on earth he was wearing a scarf when it was fairly warm, she didn't know but she remembered that he'd had some confusing habits when they'd been together. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Her thoughts turned to his appearance. He didn't look that different to how he had looked the last time she'd seen him. He had a few more grey hairs maybe, but who didn't? Generally, he hadn't changed and she felt strangely relieved. She listened as she heard the clatter of keys and he muttered something as she watched him stop, bending down to retrieve them.

As he straightened back up, he looked right at her and their eyes met for the first time in three years. She stood, completely frozen to the spot, her heart pounding in her chest as his eyes widened in recognition. "Yvonne?" His voice was gentle, like he was talking to a stray cat or something – why on earth she was thinking about stray animals at such a pivotal moment, she didn't know. They stood there for what seemed like forever, just staring at each other but it was when he took a step closer to her that the spell was broken and she panicked, knowing that things weren't the same any more. She was a ghost, that's all she ever could be to him now and she ran, berating herself inwardly for being so stupid. She heard him call her name again but she didn't stop, didn't give any sign that she'd heard him or even recognised him. She just felt an overwhelming urge to get out of the immediate area as fast as possible. It was too soon.

* * *

**I meant to say, if Yvonne's thoughts seem at all incoherent/repetitive in this chapter, that's intentional. I have very limited medical knowledge by the way, I'm relying on Dr. Google for general info which is why some things may not be accurate. Please feel free to let me know if things are terribly inaccurate – I won't mind. I know this chapter has been an incredibly quick turnaround for me in terms of posting time but that's partly down to the fact I had this half written already. I am hoping that the next part will be up within the next few days but don't quote me on that! :) Hope you enjoyed it but even if you didn't, I would love to know what you thought.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, I've rewritten this chapter about three times and it's become rather clear to me that this chapter is quite odd. Sorry about that. It may not be entirely realistic either but this is fiction so I think an element of unrealism is allowed. In order for this to work, some elements of it do need to be unrealistic. Just warning you. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, hence why it's been re-written several times but I wanted to post something for you guys as I doubt I'll have time to even think about an update before Monday but I will try.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Casualty belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
****Chapter 3  
**

* * *

Nick Jordan stood frozen to the spot, his keys clutched firmly in his hand as his mind ran back through the happenings of the last few moments. Yvonne had just been there, standing there as clear as anything. She had been real, it wasn't his imagination. He was sure she had. He was almost a hundred percent certain that he hadn't been seeing things, the sound of her shoes hitting the ground as she'd disappeared had been very real indeed.

He was now thoroughly confused. Various thoughts were buzzing around his head, confusing him even further. He wasn't sure how to feel. There was a part of him that was just simply relieved that he hadn't been seeing things or hallucinating. Another part of him was over the moon to know that she was okay but there was a smaller part of him that was angry and full of negative emotions.

She obviously had been okay, her presence in front of him a few moments ago had proven that beyond all reasonable doubt to him but what he couldn't work out now was why on earth he'd been told...actually he didn't even want to think about that now. It hurt too much; it was too painful. Focusing on the present for now, rather than the past, sounded reasonable to him so for now, he wasn't going to think about anything other than finding her. He just wanted to have a quick scout around, see if he could find her. If he couldn't, then he was just going to go home and try and work out what on earth to do now.

* * *

She dropped on to the soft bed in the room that she had booked at the B&B she was currently staying in for however long – she hadn't actually planned that far ahead. Her lower lip was trembling, the tears she'd been trying to hold back for what seemed like an eternity were threatening to break loose and spill down her cheeks. Inwardly cursing herself for being so stupid, she scrubbed at her eyes angrily with the scratchy sleeve of her jumper before sitting up and letting her head fall delicately into her hands as she tried to fight the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her.

His face, she couldn't get his face out of her mind. Her brain just kept rewinding and replaying that moment they'd seen each other again for the first time in a long time like a stuck video tape. His expression, she could see that clearly in front of her as she squeezed her eyes shut. He had been shocked but that much she had expected. His voice had been incredibly gentle, tender almost as he'd said her name and she hadn't expected the strong emotions that coursed through her upon seeing him, upon hearing his voice. She'd assumed – wrongfully, she now realised – that they would have become weaker with time. They hadn't and she wasn't sure how she felt now.

The whole situation was a mess. There wasn't anything she liked about it except that she was back in Holby and closer to him, mileage wise at least, than she had been in three years. Being close to Nick was the only bearable part about the whole thing, the only part that she would even want to like. She wasn't sure why she had run away from him earlier, she hadn't wanted to but it was like her mind had taken over. She'd felt an overwhelming urge to get out of there; to not hang around. She hadn't felt that feeling before, at least not recently, and although it was a horrible feeling to experience, she suspected that it had been down to fear. Or even uncertainty. It didn't make her feel any better though, if anything she felt worse.

She swallowed hard, pushing away the tears as they, once again, threatened overflow. She hated feeling like this, she really did. She hated feeling so emotionally weak, she hated being so sensitive. These days even just thinking about the life she'd had in Holby, just thinking about Nick was enough to make the tears build up or even fall and she hated it because it reminded her that things weren't the same any more. That she wasn't the same any more. Her experiences – not that she could remember much of it, admittedly – had shaken her badly and although she couldn't work out why her lack of memory regarding the riots had affected her so badly, she was very much aware that she wasn't as strong, emotionally, as she had been before the riots. Before this had even happened, before the whole situation had occurred, tears had been a rarity. She'd only really cried when something had been seriously wrong and that had only been short bursts of emotion but nowadays, tears seemed to be a common occurrence and that was something she hated with a passion.

Yvonne exhaled deeply, shaking herself out of her thoughts as she removed her head from her hands and let her body fall gently backwards on to the bed. She stared up at the ceiling, letting her arms fall limply by her sides as she contemplated the situation she was in now with Nick. She knew that she had to face him at some point and she was aware that if she left it for too much longer, it would be incredibly difficult for them both. Especially after their encounter earlier that evening. Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, she would try and attempt to contact him. Phone the number she had for him or something. She just knew that she had to talk to him, had to make things right. She actually felt vaguely better, a little calmer, now that she had a plan of sorts formulated in her brain.

* * *

Nick entered his home, dropping his keys into the dark blue pot that sat on the small table irritably as he passed it. He stomped into the lounge, turning the lights on as he entered and threw himself down on to the sofa, his dark mood not being relieved at all by the silence that greeted him. He exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand exhaustedly over his face as his thoughts drifted back to Yvonne.

After she had run off, he had driven around for a while. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been driving for, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again but eventually he had recognised that he wasn't going to find her that night and he had returned home. It was honestly like she had just disappeared in to thin air, one minute she'd been there, the next she hadn't. He was sure that he had seen her – the more he kept going over it, the surer he felt about it – that she had been real and not a figment of his imagination. She had been stood there, that much he was certain of but why she had suddenly been there and where she'd gone, he had no idea.

He frowned, sitting up in his seat as he suddenly remembered something significant that he had spent a good while agonizing over at the time. Now he was wondering if her sudden re-appearance had anything to do with the odd behaviour that those two police officers had exhibited whilst they'd been in the emergency department a few days back. They had been acting terribly strangely, especially towards him, and now this had happened. Now she was back. It was just too much of a coincidence for his liking; there was definitely something going on here. All he wanted to know now was whether her colleagues knew anything or not. He had to know, for his own peace of mind and he suspected that at least one of them might know what was going on, possibly the superintendent – whatever her name was.

Maybe the best bet would be to go down to the police station in the morning and speak to the woman in charge – he still couldn't recall her name for the life of him but he suspected that, maybe, he hadn't been paying enough attention when she'd first introduced herself. All he wanted was some answers, he just wanted to know why. Surely that wasn't too much to ask, was it?

He was relieved that Yvonne was okay, of course he was and he just wanted to find a way of speaking to her, of reassuring her if that was what she needed. There were questions that needed to be answered probably on both their parts, he knew that but for now, he just wanted to find her. He thought back to the moment he had come face to face with her for the first time in three years and he remembered the expression that had been on her face, reflecting in her eyes. She had been uncertain, in fact he would go as far as to say that she had been frightened. Of what, he wasn't sure yet but she had definitely seemed troubled. Her eyes always had told him a lot about her mood and when they had been together, he had learnt that in order to read her properly – especially when she wasn't being particularly forthcoming about how she felt – he'd had to know how her moods had reflected in her eyes. It had taken a few weeks of practise but he'd got there in the end.

He sighed deeply, realising that he'd been sitting there for a while, just thinking about her. He knew that sitting there and thinking about the situation he now found himself in wouldn't make anything better, anything less confusing. If anything, constantly going over and over it in his brain could make things worse. He just had to get through the evening and then tomorrow, hopefully he would finally get some answers.

* * *

Nick Jordan walked into the police station the next morning, trying to keep his uncharacteristically bad temper in check. He was confused and he was tired – he hadn't slept well the night before, the uncertainty of the situation having kept him awake long into the early hours of the morning. He sighed deeply and moved over to the desk when told to do so. "I want to speak to the superintendent." He growled at the young officer who was manning the front desk.

"She's not available right now." The officer managed to squeak out, appearing to wilt under his unusually stony gaze. "I can get her to give you a ring when she's free Mr...?" she paused, hoping the man in front of her would take the hint and identify himself.

"Jordan. Make her available, I need to speak to her now." Nick shot back, not even stopping to think about how unreasonable he was being. His exhaustion, his desire to find out what they knew about Yvonne was fuelling him on and he was just desperate for some answers. The confusion, the vagueness of the situation was becoming too much for him to handle and he was desperate for some answers, for it all to come to an end.

The officer swallowed and nodded, picking up the phone as she saw through his attitude, his front, to see how emotional he really was. Nick watched as she pressed a number and then waited for the call to connect before she spoke into the phone. She exchanged a few words with the person on the other end of the phone before finishing the conversation rather swiftly and placing the phone down. "She'll see you as soon as she's free Mr Jordan." She informed him kindly, indicating for him to take a seat.

Nick nodded, flashing her a small but grateful smile, hoping she understood. He did as he was told and trudged over to a spare seat, letting his body fall heavily into it. He reminded the officer somewhat of a petulant child but she could tell just by looking at him, that there were reasons that would explain his behaviour.

* * *

"Mr Jordan, what can I do for you?" Half an hour later, the superintendent – he still couldn't remember her name even though he was now looking at her – walked into the front office. She looked stressed, he noticed and he felt a stab of guilt for adding to her workload.

"It's about Yvonne," he informed her brusquely, watching her reaction carefully. Her face stayed impassive, blank, as if his words hadn't meant much to her.

She raised her eyebrows at his tone. "You'd better come up then, hadn't you?" She asked rhetorically, walking back over to the door. She punched the security code into the silver box and when the door buzzed, she pulled it open, holding it open for him as she indicated for him to step through. He did as he was told, waiting for her to guide him through the rather confusing maze of the twisting corridors that made up Holby police station.

* * *

Yvonne stared at the simple mobile phone she held in her hand, suddenly realising that she had no idea if Nick even had the same mobile number as he had, had three years ago. She took a deep breath, trying to work up the courage to phone the number she had for him and find out. There was only one way to find the information – or in her case, the number – that she needed. She sat there for a few more moments in silent contemplation before deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with. She shakily dialled the number and raised the phone to her ear, her nerves increasing with every ring. It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out abruptly and his answer machine took over, his familiar voice informing her that he couldn't take the call right now and to leave a message. He did have the same number and that was something she felt vaguely relieved about. She sighed and ended the call without leaving a message, throwing her phone back onto the bed. It was probably better to try again later, after all he could be working or something now.

* * *

Nick sat down in the comfortable chair that he was offered opposite the superintendent's desk. He glanced around the office, taking in every little detail, unable to stop himself wondering what it would be like if it was still Yvonne's office. Perhaps, in a way, it still was.

"So," Sara sat down in her chair, waiting until he had stopped looking around the room and was looking back at her before she continued to speak. "What can I do for you Mr Jordan?" She asked, her tone soft as she intentionally repeated her words from earlier.

"It's Yvonne," he started, swallowing hard to push back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him as he said her name. "I saw her."

"When?" Sara questioned, her tone completely professional. She knew that he was on to the simple fact that his girlfriend..ex girlfriend, whatever Yvonne was to him now, was actually still alive. She didn't know the complete details about the whole thing – it seemed it had been a closely guarded secret for reasons that she had yet to understand but what she was wondering was why on earth he had been told something that was so drastically different to the truth. She assumed it had been a mistake, a painful mistake that no-one had thought to correct.

"Last night." Nick answered. "She was outside the hospital." He paused for a moment, wondering whether or not to ask the question that was plaguing him. The question that had kept him up into the early hours until exhaustion had finally taken over and he'd fallen into a restless sleep. "Please tell me. I need to know. Is she still alive?" He asked bluntly, his words full of pain.

Sara exhaled deeply, blowing her cheeks out as she wondered how best to answer the direct question that had been put to her by him. "I can't tell you much, I don't know much myself." She started, thinking back to the rather confusing phone conversation she'd had with a superior colleague a few days ago. "But to answer your question then yes, it is my understanding that she is still alive."

Nick stared at her, seemingly rendered speechless by the revelation. He wasn't quite sure why he was so gob-smacked, after all he had expected it after he'd seen Yvonne for himself yesterday. Perhaps it was just simply the relief of knowing that she had been there last night, that she was okay. So many questions were now buzzing around his head but only one mattered to him. "Where is she?" He asked suddenly, feeling an overwhelming urge to find Yvonne and see her for himself again.

"I don't know." Sara answered honestly. That was true, she didn't know where on earth Yvonne was staying at the moment – she'd literally just been told, or rather, informed of the situation in case something should arise from Yvonne's sudden return. They weren't anticipating that anything would but you could never be too certain. "If you want my advice, the easiest thing for you both would be to let her approach you. She obviously wants to see you, she wouldn't have been outside the hospital if she didn't but it's probably best if you give her some time and space, let her make the first move."

He stayed silent, unsure whether she was right or not.

"Don't be too hard on her when she does approach you." Sara broke the silence that had descended over them a few moments later with another little pearl of wisdom. "Remember that this situation is unusual, it's going to be incredibly difficult for you both."

Nick nodded reluctantly. "Why wasn't I told this sooner?" He questioned. "Why was I told that she was-" he stopped abruptly, emotion catching in his throat.

She exhaled deeply. "I honestly don't know. Like I said earlier, I don't know much myself." She looked at him apologetically, wishing that she could tell him some more but she honestly had very little information when it came to the Yvonne situation. She did feel awfully sorry for them both, Nick's world had been turned upside down yet again with this revelation and Yvonne, well she couldn't imagine how confusing and frightening it must have been for her.

He nodded, glancing at his watch. "Thanks. I've got to get back." He stood up and picked up his bag, abruptly ending their conversation. He was still completely confused and he just wanted some time on his own now, to think about it all.

"I'll show you out." She stood and walked over to him, stopping him before he left the office. "If there's anything we can do, for either of you, please don't hesitate to get in contact with me." She offered, knowing that her offer of help was probably too little, too late but she felt compelled to offer something in the way of support.

Nick just simply nodded again in gratitude, hoping that he didn't seem too abrupt. "Thanks." He murmured as he followed her out of the office. He clicked the door closed behind him and followed her back down the stairs, feeling relieved that she was showing him out – the station felt like a maze with all those seemingly never ending corridors to him. As he left the building a few moments later, he reflected back on the superintendent's demeanour. Now that he'd had a chance to talk to her properly, she didn't actually seem as awful as his brain had made out. He felt guilty for thinking badly of her without getting to know her but he realised that it had probably been a form of self-preservation, he had just been protecting himself. She had given him a straight answer regarding Yvonne and that was something he was thankful for. It was so much easier when people gave you a straight answer. Now all he had to do was try and track Yvonne down. He knew that Sara – her name had suddenly occurred to him – had told him to let her get in contact but he was just desperate to see her again, just so it was confirmed in his mind that she really was here. Yvonne was here somewhere, that much he knew for sure, but Holby was a big place and if she wanted to stay out of his way for a little while longer then he had no doubt that she would manage it.

* * *

The next few hours actually passed fairly uneventfully, almost like a normal day. Except it wasn't, there wasn't much that was normal about this situation. He'd managed to stay in his office for most of that morning and no-one had disturbed him, obviously not wanting to intrude on him when he was in such a foul mood. He was in a terrible mood, he was aware of that much. He'd snapped at Scarlett already once that morning for no reasonable reason at all, practically reducing the poor girl to tears which neither Zoe or Tess had been particularly pleased about. After enduring a berating from Zoe about being unnecessarily nasty to the nursing staff, he had retired to his office to do paperwork, leaving strict instructions with his colleagues not to disrupt him unless it was urgent.

His phone rang on the table a few moments later and he picked it up, glancing at the screen. He frowned as the display informed him it was a number he didn't recognise and he was about to silence the call to let it go through to answer phone when something stopped him. Instead, he accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear. If it was someone trying to sell him something that he definitely did not need then he certainly wasn't interested and he was going to make that very clear to them. "Nick Jordan." He snapped into his phone, inwardly wincing at how harsh his tone sounded.

There was deafening silence for a few moments and he was about to hang up, thinking it was a crank call but then he heard the heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, as if they were trying to psych themselves up. It became clear exactly why a few seconds later when her voice drifted down the line, sounding as clear as a bell albeit extremely nervous. "N-Nick? It's me, Yvonne."

* * *

**I had to leave it there, I may be being a bit mean – sorry about that! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, I really appreciate it. I wasn't honestly expecting this fic to be popular but I am really glad that you guys are enjoying it. Hope you liked this part and if you have time, I would love to know what you thought. If you're confused, don't worry - it will make sense soon. I seem to like confusing people, or so it seems. The next part should be up some time next week. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter – I really appreciate it and I'm glad that you are enjoying it.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing – Casualty belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 4  
**

* * *

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

The rhythmic sound of the ticking clock filled the otherwise silent room as he stared at the sentence, trying to think of the best way to complete it. Nick Jordan sighed deeply and placed his pen down a few moments later, knowing that he was far too preoccupied by the phone call he had received earlier to be able to concentrate on something as mundane as paperwork. He'd been stuck on that same sentence for at least the last half an hour and it wasn't going anywhere fast. He glanced up at the clock that sat proudly on the wall, ticking away. An hour to go until the end of his shift. He had sixty minutes to fill somehow until he was due to meet her again. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this fact although the nerves that were building in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again sort of spoke for him and now he was starting to agonize over what to say to her. He had no idea what he was going to say to her but he reckoned that he was probably over-thinking it and that it would work out just fine. He hoped it would – he wasn't sure how it was going to play out but he just wanted it to go right. Now he really was over-thinking the whole thing. He just had to get through the last hour of his shift and get out of there on time, then he would be able to see her.

* * *

Yvonne Rippon sat quietly in one of the corner booths in the pub, nursing a glass of white wine as she waited anxiously for Nick to arrive. She had eventually managed to get hold of him earlier after a couple of attempts. Their phone call hadn't lasted for long admittedly – neither of them had been particularly sure how to speak to the other – but at that moment in time, she was quite happy to take comfort from the fact that he had asked her to meet him in the pub at the end of his shift. They had decided not to meet in the pub closest to the emergency department – they both knew that this first meeting was going to be awkward and quite possibly painful for them both and they both agreed that they wanted to do it as quietly as possible which meant meeting somewhere where neither of their colleagues - or ex-colleagues in her case although she wasn't quite sure what they were to her now - were likely to walk in.

Her nerves increased and she felt decidedly nauseous as the door swung open and a familiar figure walked in. She watched silently as he walked over to the bar and ordered a drink before he glanced round the pub, immediately spotting her sitting there. She gave him a tiny smile as he paid the barman and then walked over to sit next to her, placing his drink on the table in front of him.

"Hi," she offered awkwardly, her voice soft as she took a sip of her drink, trying to quash the nerves that were continuing to swirl in her stomach.

Nick said nothing by way of reply, he just sat there and stared at her as if he couldn't quite believe she was actually there. Yvonne shakily took another sip of her drink, quite happy to allow him to sit there quietly with her. She knew that this whole situation was a lot to take in, a lot to process and if he just wanted to sit there without speaking for now then she was quite happy to let him do that. Eventually, he cleared his throat and looked at her properly. "How are you?" He asked quietly, inwardly cringing at the inadequacy of his question after three years of turmoil for both of them. He probably could have come up with a better conversation starter than that, he thought, but for now it would have to do.

"I'm fine, thanks. You?" She replied faintly, knowing that she was anything but fine – in fact, she was probably a long way from fine - and although she hated herself for lying to him, she just felt that she had to protect him from what she was currently going through. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped, like he had to be there for her just because they had dated for a while some time ago. She most certainly didn't want to heap expectation on him, she just wanted him to make his own mind up. If he wanted to stick around then that was fine by her but equally if he wanted nothing more to do with him then she was determined to respect his decision and let him go, if of course it came to that.

"Good." He shot her a small smile, suspecting that she probably wasn't as fine as she was trying to make out she was. He wasn't going to pull her up on it though, if she wanted to tell him then he knew that she would, in her own time and on her terms. "I missed you."

Yvonne nodded, feeling guilt tear through her even though common sense told her that it wasn't entirely her fault. She hadn't actually had any say over what had happened, by the time she had woken in hospital, certain events had already been put in motion and she had been powerless to stop them. Despite that, she still felt guilty for putting him through it, knowing that if she hadn't acted the way she had done during the riots then perhaps this would never have happened. In a way, she supposed, it probably was her fault. "I'm sorry."

Nick shook his head, not wanting her to feel any worse than she obviously already did. He saw her grey eyes cloud over with guilt and just then, Sara's words echoed in his ears: _"Don't be too hard on her, it's an unusual situation. It's going to be incredibly difficult for you both." _

"Don't be." He moved his drink out of the way so that he could slide his hand over towards her. He stopped just before their hands touched, neither of them wanting to force the other into making the first move. The only problem with this though was that they were effectively dancing around each other, both of them waiting expectantly for the other to make a move. It really was a vicious cycle and if it continued then they wouldn't get anywhere any time soon.

Hesitantly, she moved her hand slightly so that it was resting against his. Neither of them failed to miss the strong spark that jolted through them as their skin touched. Even after three long years, their connection was still just as strong as it had been before the riots and the subsequent events. Nick squeezed her fingers gently, knowing that they needed to talk. However, now he felt that the pub was too public, too exposed for their conversation. Some conversations were better done in private, that much he was sure of.

A tiny ghost of a smile appeared on her lips as he squeezed her fingers, the simple touch sending a mix of emotions through her. She hadn't thought she'd ever feel his touch again and now that she had, she was feeling quite overwhelmed by the feelings that accompanied it. He looked into her eyes, seeing that her grey orbs were full of conflicting emotions: confusion, exhaustion, sadness, a slight glimmer of relief but most of all, her eyes were full of guilt and his heart went out to her. He desperately wanted to make it all better for her but realistically he knew that he couldn't do that, no-one could. They couldn't change what had happened, they just had to find a way to deal with it. If, of course, there was a way.

The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, listening to the chatter of the other patrons. They didn't feel the need to speak until Nick decided to break the silence a few moments later. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked suddenly, his voice soft. Yvonne glanced at him, surprised. She wasn't quite sure where this question had come from.

"I'm fine." She repeated, having forgotten how hard it had been to hide how she felt from him. She still couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth, not wanting to make him feel like he had to stay. She didn't want to influence his decision by letting him see how badly she was coping. For now, she had to hold it together.

"You look tired." He stated, watching as she took another sip of her drink. "I'll give you a lift home if you want – do you want me to take you home?"

Yvonne shook her head, feeling the emotion begin to well up in her at that simple question. Home? Where was home these days? After being back in Holby for less than twenty-four hours, she was becoming more and more convinced that she didn't fit in there any more. She didn't feel a part of this place, she was aware that too many things had happened here. Now she wasn't sure where she belonged. She didn't feel any more at home in Holby – even though Holby was supposed to be her home – than she had done there.

Her hand was gripped tightly in his own, a concerned frown upon his face as he saw her mood shift. She looked overwhelmed and not entirely happy but he suspected that was down to the stress of the last few days. It had to be stressful, didn't it? Going back to a place where most people were convinced you were dead when in fact you weren't. He guessed that you probably had to be fairly strong to be able to cope with the uncertainty of it all and if their roles had been reversed – which thankfully, they hadn't – he wasn't sure if he would have been able to show the sort of strength that she had just by being there with him now.

He bit his lip, moving his thoughts from Yvonne's return to the question that was playing on his mind, the question that he was desperate to ask. He didn't want her to think that he was being too forward or trying to rush things but he just wanted to spend some time with her before they went through that rather difficult conversation that they both knew they needed to have. After a few more minutes of a furious internal debate, he decided to just bite the bullet and ask her. "Do you want to come back to mine? I've got some wine in the fridge, I think – or there's coffee. It'll be quieter than here."

Before she answered, she glanced around, noticing that the pub was starting to fill up with people either wanting a quiet drink or to start a night out. His question hung in the air between them and she knew that she needed to give him an answer but if she was honest, she wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. She desperately wanted to accept, the prospect of spending some time with him away from other people was extremely appealing but there was still an element of doubt in her mind. Was it really the best thing to practically go back to how things had been before, even if it was just for one night? She wasn't sure but maybe some attempt at normality would help. It was worth a try, wasn't it? "If you don't mind," she replied eventually, knowing that it was quite a conservative answer.

"Of course not. I wouldn't have suggested it if I did." Nick reassured her, noting with concern that she seemed to be more on edge, more nervy than he had remembered her to be. Before the riots, before all of this, nothing had fazed her but now it seemed that even a simple invitation would set her mind reeling with doubts and uncertainty. He wasn't entirely sure whether that was down to the stress of her current situation or whether it was something more. Intuition told him, however, that there was something at play here with regards to her behaviour. He just wasn't quite sure what it was, not yet at least.

He watched as she finished the rest of her drink. She shot him another, tiny smile before she spoke. "Ok," she agreed, trying to put the doubts that she felt to the back of her mind. She hoped that once they had talked properly and she had settled back in, all these feelings would go away. A part of her wasn't sure they would however and if she was honest, that was what scared her the most. Pulling herself abruptly out of her thoughts and pushing them firmly to the back of her mind for now, she placed the glass back down and stood up, collecting together her things as Nick took her empty glass and his drink back to the bar. He returned to her side a few moments later and they left the pub, walking the short distance in silence to where his car was parked.

* * *

Yvonne stood in Nick's lounge, her eyes darting around her surroundings nervously. She could hear him crashing around in the kitchen – he had said he was getting them a drink but if she was honest, it didn't sound like that – and her mind involuntarily flashed back to the last time she had been here. Nothing had changed in his lounge, she suspected his house hadn't changed much in three years. Everything was still as she had remembered it. She didn't feel right standing here, it was a strange feeling to be standing in his front room after everything that had happened and she wasn't sure it was a feeling she would get used to.

"Here you go." Nick's voice jolted her from her thoughts as he walked back into the lounge with two glasses and a bottle of wine. She was still standing in the spot he'd left her, looking around nervously with an uneasy expression on her face. "You can sit down you know." He said casually, concern gripping him as he noticed that she seemed to be quite intimidated by her surroundings even though they should have been familiar to her.

She gave a small nod and sat down on the sofa, dropping her bag by her feet as she leant forward to accept the glass of wine he held out to her with a small word of thanks. She was sitting on the edge of the seat, clearly uncomfortable, twirling the glass around her fingers anxiously as she dropped her gaze to stare at the carpet.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, he sat down on the chair next to the sofa before placing the bottle on the coffee table. He took a sip of his drink. "I went to the station today." He started, unsure as to whether she would want to know but deciding he needed to start a conversation somehow.

"You did?" Yvonne's head shot up at that and she looked at him, biting her lip as his words washed over him. He saw her visibly retreat back into her shell and he almost sighed, knowing that this nervousness was new thing. He hoped it was temporary and that when she felt a bit more secure...a little safer about being back then it would dissipate and her true personality would shine through again. If that didn't happen then he knew he would just learn to cope with this new Yvonne, that is if they managed to find a way out of the mess they were currently in. He wasn't sure whether that would happen – he hoped it would because he still had feelings for her, that much had become increasingly obvious over the course of the last few days.

Nick acknowledged her question with a small nod, wanting to reach out to her but he didn't want to push things too far, too quickly. It had been a difficult day for them both and there had been a significant step forward by them returning to his house after spending a little while together in public. He was aware that there was a possibility he could lose her for good if he pushed her too much – she already looked like she wanted to run - and he wasn't sure if he could cope with losing her for a second time. "After last night, I needed to find out about you and I thought the station was the best place to start." He clarified, feeling that he should give her some sort of explanation as to why he had gone to the station that day.

There was silence for a few moments as she absorbed his words. "I'm sorry about last night." She met his gaze briefly, her gaze pained, before she dropped her head again.

"It's fine." His voice was quiet as he spoke, not wanting to make her feel any more guilty than she already did.

She exhaled deeply, blowing her cheeks out at his words. "You're too reasonable." She told him, running her hand through her curly hair. It was slightly longer than he remembered and maybe a little darker but still just as curly. "You should be angry or something, I don't know."

"Would it help?" Nick asked simply, somehow knowing what the answer would be.

Yvonne shrugged. "Probably not, no." She answered, a small smile playing on her lips as she shifted her gaze back to his face.

"Not a lot of point then." Nick smiled, placing his drink down on the table before leaning over to take her hand. This time she gripped on to him almost instantaneously, her smaller hand cold and clammy in his larger, warmer one. "Yvonne, we've got to talk." He said gently.

"I know." She swallowed, giving him a tiny smile as she took another sip of her drink. "Can we leave that until tomorrow? I'm too tired to think tonight. I just want to spend some time with you, you know?"

Nick nodded, understanding exactly where she was coming from. "I know." He reassured her, squeezing her hand briefly before releasing it from his grasp and standing up. He moved over to sit beside her, taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on the table. She turned to look at him, her gaze questioning. They both felt the mood in the room shift as he leant towards her, their lips meeting in a soft kiss for the first time in three years. As they broke the embrace, moving away from each other slightly, he was alarmed to see tears swimming in her grey orbs. "I never stopped loving you," he murmured, his tone sincere as his gaze met hers.

She was silent for a few moments, closing her eyes as she took in his words. He watched a solitary tear slide down her cheek, leaving a silver path in its wake before she re-opened her eyes and looked at him. "Nor did I." She replied, resting her forehead against his as he grasped her hands in his own.

Relief rushed through him at her words. He knew exactly what she was trying to say and although they had been apart for three years, three long years, it seemed that there wasn't a lot that had changed – if anything – between them in terms of their feelings for each other. At that moment in time, it felt like those three years apart hadn't happened. They had though and that was something they were going to have to deal with – they both knew that.

Tomorrow, they would have to talk and get everything out in the open so they could see if there was a way forward for them. For now though, they just needed to be with each other without thinking about the "what ifs", the "buts" and the "maybes" of the future. They just needed some time together without any pressure before the big decisions had to be made. Tomorrow was the time for thinking and talking about the important stuff whereas tonight was purely for them. It was something they both needed.

* * *

**Enjoy the fluff, it's not going to last ;) But yes, no idea where that last bit came from – it wasn't the plan originally haha but it is now or so it seems. Next part should be up within the next few days. Please review – I'd love to know what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello! I'm back again, finally. This has taken an incredibly long time, I realise that and I do apologise for how long it's been since I last updated. I'm hoping that the next update will be quicker but don't quote me on that. The coffee bit in this chapter was inspired by my oldest brother being hopelessly addicted to the stuff. I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone that's reviewed the first four chapters; I am really pleased you are enjoying it and I hope this one is up to scratch. Also, a massive thank you to Checky for the random (but brilliant!) conversations about anything and everything and for chatting quite happily with me about how fantastic Rachel Shelley is. This chapter is most certainly for you.  
Disclaimer: I own nada. Casualty belongs to the BBC; no copyright infringement intended.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 5  
**

* * *

The moderate sized room was flooded with light, caused by the burning rays of the rising sun streaming in through the gap where the two sides of the dark coloured curtains failed to meet. The scene was almost magical; the sun lighting up various parts of the room and casting a soft glow over the figures in the bed.

Nick stirred a few moments later, realising that his room was unusually bright. His eyes flickered open and immediately, he was greeted by the dazzling natural light that had filled the room. A small groan escaped his lips and he clamped his eyes shut again, deciding that he wasn't awake enough yet to be able to deal with the almost unbearable lightness of the room. As he lay there, his eyes tightly shut, he became aware that something was different but what, he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something felt different. There was a pressure on his chest and he realised that the unusual weight on his chest was what was different about this particular morning. It was strange but comforting and he realised that he hadn't woken up to a weight on his chest for quite sometime, not since Yvonne.

Forcing his eyes open again, he blinked rapidly a couple of times until he adjusted to the light that had rather rudely woken him up. That pressure on his chest was still there and he was still confused; in his dazed, half asleep state, he couldn't quite remember what had happened the night before. He glanced down, an unexpected wave of emotion hitting him as his eyes fell on a sleeping Yvonne. She was curled up, half on the bed next to him, half lying on him. Her head was resting on his chest – so that was what that weight was – and she was gripping his t-shirt with her small fists. The simple sight of her being there pushed the events of the last couple of days back to him and his head spun as he tried to compute everything that had happened recently. He swallowed, his head buzzing with thoughts. He still wasn't sure how to feel about her being there, curled up next to him.

He ran his eyes over her sleeping figure silently, his dark chocolate orbs taking in everything about her appearance and storing it in his memory. Not that he really needed to, he had never really forgotten her, never really forgotten what she looked like. His memories had become a little hazier as time had slipped by but he had always remembered the basics about her. She was sleeping rather peacefully next to him and that was something that relieved him immensely. She had looked exhausted when he had met her in the pub the night before and he had assumed that she hadn't been sleeping very well so the simple sight of her appearing to be in a peaceful sleep made him feel better. Her dark hair was tousled, wisps of it over her face, obscuring much of her pretty features from view. She was in a fairly deep sleep, one hand clutching on to his t-shirt tightly as if she was afraid that he would disappear if she let go and her other hand was thrown carelessly over her left side, her fingers curled into a loose fist. The sound of her gentle breathing swept throughout the room and he found himself feeling rather reluctant at the prospect of disturbing her but he knew that he had to wake her up so she would let go of him; he needed to get out of the bed – his coffee was calling him.

"Yvonne," he nudged her gently with his elbow. "Come on, it's time to get up." He continued to watch her carefully as her eyes flickered open. She looked momentarily confused but then her features relaxed.

"What...time? If...it...early...kill...you." She mumbled incoherently, her eyes drifted shut again as exhaustion washed over her.

Nick chuckled at her sleepy words, inwardly sighing as he realised that she had gone back to sleep again. So much for getting her to move, she was still lying on him and she was still very much asleep. He always had found it hard to stop her from doing something that she wanted to do, particularly in the mornings when she was so adorably sleepy and in this case, she had got her own way once again by going back to sleep. Some things never did change, he thought in amusement. He gently combed his fingers through her curly hair, deciding that it couldn't hurt if he lay there with her for at least a few more moments. He quite liked the idea of holding her in his arms as she slept – it was almost like things had been before the riots, before he had lost her. A lump rose in his throat at the thought of the riots and subsequent events but he forced it back down, concentrating his mind on the fact that she was right there with him and she was ok, physically at least. She was safe, alive and she was home; that was all that mattered to him.

* * *

He wasn't quite sure when he had drifted back to sleep, how long he had been asleep for or what had woken him when he opened his eyes again. Yvonne was still asleep in his arms and as he looked at her, he felt strangely relieved that it was real; that the whole thing hadn't been one of those horribly unbearable realistic dreams – the ones where you couldn't quite determine whether it was a dream or whether it was reality. She was here.

Deciding that it was about time he got up now – that coffee was definitely calling him and he was hungry – he gently uncurled Yvonne's fingers from his shirt so that he could shift her off of him and slide out from underneath her. She automatically curled up in the warm space that he had just vacated, grumbling something incomprehensible at the loss of human contact as she stirred from her peaceful slumber.

"Sssh, sleep." Nick soothed as he tucked the covers around her properly to keep her warm. He knew that she hadn't been complaining of being woken because it was early – in fact, he wasn't sure what time it was but judging by the light in the room, it wasn't unbearably early – she was grumbling because she was exhausted. He just wanted her to stay asleep now and he hoped that when she woke up properly after a little more sleep that she would be feeling a little more like stringing coherent sentences together. He looked back at her as she settled back down to sleep, relieved that the simple act of him tucking the covers around her and the sound of his voice had been enough to send her back into what he hoped was a peaceful dream world.

* * *

"Morning." Yvonne's distinctive, soft voice echoed throughout the kitchen an hour or so later as she padded into the room dressed in one of Nick's shirts and the jeans that she had been wearing the night before. Her chocolate coloured hair was wet, already starting to curl and she was rubbing it dry with a small towel. "I had a quick shower, my hair needed washing – I hope that's ok.." she trailed off, her tone uncertain.

"It's fine," Nick reassured her, concerned by the fact that she appeared to feel the need to justify her actions to him. He had expected her to want a shower when she'd woken up which was why he had left two clean towels at the end of his bed for her but he hadn't expected this level of uncertainty from her.

He turned his attention back to making a pot of coffee as a comfortable silence fell over the room. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about their current situation – he felt that they had fallen too easily back into familiarity and although it was comforting, he wasn't necessarily sure that diving head first back into the way things had been before was the best thing for either of them. Then again, there was always the possibility that he was over-thinking the whole situation again; he'd found himself doing that a lot since Yvonne had first fallen back into his life a few days ago.

Too much had happened for both of them; there were too many questions that needed answers, that much he was aware of and he was worried that this closeness wasn't what either of them needed right now. They were treading on egg shells around each other, neither of them wanting to say or do anything that might upset the other which wasn't helping the situation feel any less awkward. He just didn't want to put any pressure on her, he didn't want her to feel pressured and he was worried that she wouldn't tell him if she did. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. Now he really was convinced that he was over-thinking things – that was something that he really had to stop. It was starting to turn into a habit. Perhaps the best thing to do for now was to hold on to these precious moments that they were sharing, the flickers of familiarity and just take comfort in the presence that the other provided for as long as they possibly could. They did need to talk and that would probably happen later that day but he was painfully aware that once they'd managed to get the conversation out of the way, should things not go too well after they'd spoken about it properly then this morning could well be the last they spent together.

Nick inwardly sighed and pulled himself out of his thoughts, attempting to put them to the back of his mind for now and just concentrate on what was important; Yvonne. He turned to look at her, taking in her appearance for the second or third time that morning, his eyebrows raising as he noticed that she was wearing his shirt. "That's my shirt," he stated jovially, snaking his hand back behind his body so that he could turn the coffee machine on.

"I know," she shot him a cheeky smile, amusement sparkling in her grey eyes as she wandered over to where he was standing. She looked at him and moved closer, raising herself on to her tiptoes so she could see over his shoulder. He caught sight of the smile that she gave him out of the corner of his eye and it hit him, once again, just how much he had missed her. Especially the tiny things, like that smile of hers. He had missed the way her whole face seemed to light up whenever she truly smiled and it just seemed so surreal to him that she was there, standing next to him (and stealing his shirt) when he had thought that he would never see her again.

"I'm assuming by that look you're giving me, you want coffee?" He asked, suddenly changing the direction of the conversation completely. He had caught sight of the longing looks that she was throwing in the general vicinity of him and his coffee and he knew that depriving her of her caffeine fix for too much longer - especially if she still drank enough coffee to sink a small boat like she had done before everything had changed - would be a bad move on his part; he certainly did not want a cranky Yvonne on his hands.

Yvonne nodded briefly before quietly verbalising her answer. "Please." Her smile stayed firmly on her face as she watched him take two cups out of the cupboard, filling them with coffee. It had been a while since she had felt this comfortable in anyone's presence, after the riots she had preferred to keep herself to herself, not wanting to get close to anyone else. Nick had always made her feel safe but now, after everything that had happened, it was more than that. He was familiar, reassuring and he unknowingly made her feel better just by the simple fact that he was there.

"Do you still have ridiculous amounts of sugar in your coffee?"

That question took her by surprise – she had been wrapped up in her thoughts – and she blinked at him in confusion for a few seconds before suddenly remembering what he meant. "I never had ridiculous amounts of sugar in my coffee." She protested, hating the fact that he needed to ask. It was never supposed to have been like this, disappearing for three years and then unexpectedly returning to throw everything into confusion again certainly hadn't been on her list of things to do in her life time. Unfortunately, she had done just that and now she was going to have to deal with it. Before he had asked about the sugar, she had felt like those three years hadn't passed but one innocent question that anyone would ask if someone hadn't been there for a number of years just reminded her that things weren't the same any more.

Nick smirked, sensing that she was being plagued by her thoughts. The atmosphere in the room had gone from being playful to sad and reflective and he was determined to say or do something to make her smile again. "Three sugars is a little bit OTT." He countered with a grin, hoping that if he continued to talk about her sweet tooth then he might be able to extract another smile from her – it was something he had teased her about when they had been alone before everything had changed rather spectacularly.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips at his words. "Brown sugar." Yvonne reminded him, those two words causing the memory of the sugar incident to come flooding back to both of them.

_"Oh don't go all doctory on me, it IS brown sugar." Yvonne told him, effectively responding to the disapproving look that must have been etched upon his face as she asked for more sugar. _

"Anyway," she continued, breaking through the memory that was threatening to consume them both. "Since when did you speak in abbreviations?"

Nick glanced at her, his brow knitting in confusion. "I don't."

"You do!"

"Don't." He responded childishly, even going so far as to stick his tongue out at her.

Yvonne giggled, the delicate sound was like music to his ears. That sounded cheesy but it had been a while since he had heard her laugh and it was reassuring to know that the old Yvonne was in there somewhere, it was just a matter of extracting her. "You can't have forgotten already. You said OTT, what was that about?"

He shrugged. "Less effort?" He questioned, idly wondering if that was a good excuse.

"Are you sure?" She questioned, deciding then and there to listen to the way he spoke from now on in order to pick up on any more abbreviations that he might use – it was something she could use to tease him with, after all he used the sugar incident to tease her so it was only fair if she had something to annoy him with.

Nick nodded. "I'm sure." He picked up her coffee, wondering if he held her coffee hostage, she would promise not to go on about the one abbreviation he had used – he hadn't even realised he'd used it. Perhaps he had been spending too much time at work. "Do you want your coffee?"

"Are you thinking about withholding coffee from me now?" Yvonne asked, her grey orbs darkening slightly as her gaze flicked between the coffee and his face.

Nick gulped. In all honesty, he had forgotten how much of a caffeine junkie she had been...she was. It came with the terrority, he knew that. Her job had been demanding at the best of times and it had meant that she had often spent at least a few nights a week working through the night to complete the paperwork that had built up throughout the day or occasionally, to oversee an operation. The amount of coffee she drank had helped her to stay awake so she could complete her tasks when really, she should have been sleeping. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had become slightly addicted to it. Actually, make that very addicted it. "Would I withhold coffee from you?" He asked rhetorically, passing her the cup. "I don't."

Yvonne rolled her eyes. He really wasn't going to give up on this whole abbreviation situation and she was starting to wish she had never pointed it out. "Thanks." She accepted the cup, wrapping her slender hands around it's warmth.

"What for?"

She gave him a look that quite clearly said _are you stupid? _"Coffee." She replied as if it was obvious. "You make good coffee, you always did." She added, her tone laced with sadness as once again she was transported back to the life that they'd had before the riots.

Nick looked at her, his expression solemn. If he could resist the rather tempting urge to laugh then he might just pull this off. "Were you with me for my coffee?" He asked seriously, his lips twitching as he caught sight of the look on her face.

Yvonne slapped him lightly. "Damn, you just saw through my brilliant plan." She joked, shooting him a tiny smile as her eyes roved around the kitchen, easily picking out the clock that sat above the fridge. She had always thought that it was a stupid place to put the clock but Nick had disagreed and had always moved it back if she had ever moved it. It had turned into a bit of a joke between them. "Do you have work?" She asked suddenly, moving the conversation back on to safer ground just in case things became too awkward between them.

"No." He shook his head. "I've got a day off. I thought that we could spend today together. We need to talk."

She looked at him, the smile slipping from her lips. "Ok." She agreed eventually, knowing that he was right. They did need to talk but if she was honest, she would rather skip past it. She wasn't sure that if she really did want to talk about it all, not that there was much she could tell him. She didn't remember that much from the riots, all she really remembered was what she had been told after she had woken up.

"If you're not ready, we can leave it for another day?" Nick suggested, noticing that her demeanour had changed. She looked anxious and he didn't want to upset her if he could help it but there were things that he had...needed to know. He was sure that there were things she wanted to know about his life as well.

"It's fine." Yvonne said bravely even though the look in her eyes was telling a different story altogether. "No time like the present. You need to know, I understand." She sounded cheerful enough but Nick knew that was forced, he knew that she was trying not to make him feel guilty about suggesting it. She wasn't ok with it, that much he could decipher but she was trying to push her own emotions away for his sake.

* * *

Half an hour had ticked by and they had now moved into the lounge, each of them nursing a fresh cup of coffee. Nick was sat on the sofa whereas Yvonne had opted to sit on the floor, her back resting lightly against the side of the cream armchair. It was silent, neither of them really felt the urge to break the comfortable peace that had settled over the room until Yvonne decided that she really needed to give him some sort of explanation. "I don't know much I can tell you," she began awkwardly. "I don't really remember that much clearly – it's sort of hazy."

Nick nodded. If he was entirely honest with himself, that didn't come as a surprise; he expected her to have some degree of memory loss. Her head injuries had been fairly severe and he knew that it was common for patients with any kind of traumatic brain injury – mild or severe – to suffer with some kind of post-traumatic amnesia although it usually resolved itself in a matter of hours, days or even weeks. It was unlikely for her to still be suffering with post-traumatic amnesia three years later but he suspected that she might be suffering with some sort of retrograde amnesia; loss of memories that were formed shortly before the injury had happened. That was a reasonable explanation but he also knew that she might not remember simply because she didn't want to. He wasn't a psychologist but he knew that the brain was a powerful object and if someone was unable to deal with memories of a traumatic incident then it was possible for those memories to be repressed and for the most part, you wouldn't necessarily realise that it was these memories that were adversely affecting conscious thought, desires or actions because you wouldn't be thinking about them. Repressed memories could manifest themselves in various ways, he was aware of that. If she had repressed her memories of the riots then it probably would have been a way of protecting herself; the brain was literally suppressing what couldn't at that moment be consciously handled. Now that she was back in familiar terrority, it might not necessarily take much for it to be unlocked and then it would all come flooding back. When she did remember...if she remembered then she was going to need support, that much he did know. "Where did you go?" He asked, pulling himself out of this diagnostic mode that he appeared have entered and giving her his full attention. It was probably best to stick the simpler stuff for now; the intricacies of the whole situation could be dissected as and when they came up.

"I woke up in a hospital in London. When I was discharged, I stayed in the area – I didn't really see the point of moving." She answered softly as she stared into her coffee cup. "I'm sorry Nick, I really am." She shifted her gaze from the cup to his face, her grey eyes glassy with tears that had yet to fall.

He met her gaze, an overwhelming desire to hold her and comfort her crashing over him but somewhere inside of him, he guessed that she wouldn't want that yet. She had chosen to sit away from him whilst they had this conversation and he was going to respect her unspoken wishes by letting her have her space. "It's ok." He said gently, well aware that they had gone down this road before.

"No, it's not!" Her voice was full of anger, her grey eyes darkening. "It's not ok Nick and stop pretending like it is. You don't have to try and make me feel better, ok?-" But before he could answer her question, she was continuing with her rant and he sat there patiently, knowing that it was better to let her talk, let her get it out rather than interrupting her. "Because you won't make me feel better, you can't. No-one can. It's not ok and I can't deal with you pretending that it is, you don't need to spare my feelings. You thought I was dead and I know that sorry isn't going to fix it; it isn't going to make things better but please stop pretending that you're happy with this situation because I know you're not. It's not an ok situation, there's nothing about this whole situation that's ok!" She finished, breathing heavily in order to try and control the sudden surge of anger that had flared up inside of her.

"Finished?" He asked, continuing when she nodded timidly. "There is one thing that's ok about this situation, it's the one thing that you've forgotten about. You're alive, you're here and you're safe; that's the most important thing. Neither of us can change what's happened, it's something we're going to have to try and deal with but you're still alive and you're back where you belong. I thought I had lost you for good, I thought I was never going to see you again and I'll admit I was shocked when you turned up the other night but primarily, I was relieved that you were ok. You're here, that counts for something doesn't it?"

"I don't know." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It feels strange Nick, I don't feel like I belong here any more – I don't fit in anywhere. Maybe I shouldn't have come back, I don't think I can do this."

It took a lot for her to admit that to him, Nick knew that and he was glad, in a way, that she had been honest with him and told him how she was feeling rather than bottling it all up and hoping it would all go away. He had to reassure her somehow but he wasn't quite sure how he could do that. "It's going to feel strange Yvonne," he started, keeping his tone gentle and even. "You haven't lived here for a while, things have changed as they do but running away isn't the answer. It's not you, that's not the Yvonne I know. It's going to be hard but you're strong, you'll find a way through this. You can't run forever, you'll have to stop sooner or later."

"I don't think I am any more, I don't think I really know myself now." She told him sadly and his heart broke a little bit more at her words. He glanced over at her, his chest clenching in sympathy as he caught sight of her. She was sitting against the chair, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair was down, curly wisps framing her face and her grey eyes were large, uncertain. She looked so young and so afraid in that instant that all he wanted to do was sweep her into her arms and hold her tight so nothing could hurt her any more but realistically he knew that wasn't an option. Unfortunately, he couldn't make it better for her, he couldn't stop her being hurt but he could try and be there for her. She had a lot to work through, he could deduce that much but it was something that she was going to have to do by herself with his support. He couldn't do it for her, no-one could. "I can't put you through this Nick, you shouldn't have to put up with me now because we dated a few years ago." She said suddenly in a refreshing wave of honesty. The moment that the words left her lips, she regretted it.

"Surely that's my call?" Nick questioned, realising that she was trying to protect him but what from, he wasn't entirely certain. Herself? Her memories, the way she wasn't dealing with them? It could be a number of things and he knew he was going to have to dig deeper to find exactly why she was frightened or indeed what she was frightened of. As for her not wanting him to have to put up with her just because (and this was in her words) 'they dated a few years ago', well that was ridiculous in his eyes. There had been...there was more to their relationship than just a couple of dates a few years ago and he wanted to be there for her, wanted to support her. It wasn't a case of him feeling like he had to be there for her, of course it wasn't.

Yvonne shrugged, her eyes dropping back to the floor. She didn't think that her being there was for the best any more, maybe the night before had been a mistake. It was all so confusing and this conversation really wasn't helping anything to become any less confusing, if anything it was making her head spin more. "Maybe it's for the best."

His forehead scrunched in confusion as he failed to understand what she meant. He didn't push her for any more information, instinctively knowing that she would elaborate further in her own time.

"When I woke up, I spent the majority of my time hoping that you were coming to see me, I thought that one day you would walk through the door but you didn't. No-one would tell me anything at first but eventually I had to know, I had to find out why you didn't come to see me." She paused, her voice trembling slightly. "I was told that they were trying to protect me and although they hadn't meant to tell you-" she bit her lip, pressing her lips together in an effort to stop herself crying. She was determined not to cry in front of him, not wanting him to think any worse of her. "Well, you know. I knew it wasn't your fault but at first, I thought all sorts of things. I hate myself for getting into this situation, for causing this. I wanted everything to go back to normal but I knew that it couldn't. I really missed you."

"I missed you too." Nick told her honestly. "I understand that they were trying to protect you, I wish that it hadn't been so extreme but we can't change what's happened, we've just got to find a way through it. I don't blame you for any of it. You know that, don't you?"

"Why?" The question was simple, child like almost.

"Because it wasn't your fault-"

She cut him off abruptly, tears that she refused to let fall shining in her eyes. "Wasn't it?" Her gaze met his briefly for a moment before she looked away again, her mind awash with doubts about everything; him, Holby, the last three years. Anything that she could possibly doubt, she found herself doubting in that moment and she didn't know why. She hated herself for being like this. "I can't do this." She muttered suddenly, having come to a decision. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"You're going to run away then?" He asked, the words coming out a lot harsher than he had originally intended. He just wanted her to see sense, she couldn't keep running away from things. She had to stop and deal with it all at some point and surely it would be better dealt with here, where it happened in the company of the people who loved her and cared about her. He knew that this urge to run away that she seemed to be experiencing was relatively new for her – before all this had happened, she did try and deal with things. She may not have done that particularly well but she never would have thought about running away. Obviously the riots, the events of the last three years had affected her more than he'd first thought.

Yvonne exhaled deeply, running her hand through her dark hair anxiously. "No, maybe. I don't know." She sounded confused and his heart went out to her, he hated seeing and hearing her like this especially when nothing he did or said appeared to register with her nor seemed to make her feel even the tiniest bit better. "I think we need some space, it doesn't feel right. None of this feels right." She frowned, mentally searching for the right words to explain how confused, how jumbled up she felt.

"Where are you going to go?" Nick asked. He couldn't stop her if she wanted to go and it would break his heart all over again if he lost her once more but at the same time, he didn't want to stop her doing something that she wanted to do. He wasn't quite sure whether he would be able to stop her even he wanted to, she always had been fiercely independent and hated people telling her what to do. He imagined that she probably had put up with three years of people telling her what was best for her and he suspected that she wouldn't take anyone telling her what to do lightly, especially now.

She shrugged. "I don't know, back to the B&B probably." She got to her feet. "I'll call you, we both need space."

Nick nodded reluctantly. "Promise me something?" He asked softly, hoping that he could get her to agree to this one request.

"What?" She questioned, pushing down the lump that had risen unbidden in her throat. She wasn't going to cry in front of him, that would have to wait until later when she was alone again.

"That if you decide you want to go, you won't go without saying goodbye. You'll tell me first?"

There was silence for a few moments as she processed his words. His request was fair, she realised that much and he had already done so much for her, that she felt it would be unfair to refuse him this. "I promise." She agreed eventually.

"I don't want to lose you." He said quietly, his voice charged with emotion. "Not again but if you really want to go then I won't stop you."

"This is for the best Nick," she muttered faintly, a lone tear breaking free and sliding down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold back the tears. "Too much has changed for both of us, I just-" she sighed, deciding not to continue with what she was saying. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"I love you."

Yvonne shook her head. "Don't make this any harder than it already is Nick, please," she begged. They'd only been reunited for twenty-four hours, maybe less than that, but in that time, her thoughts had kept wandering and now she was so terribly confused, she was hurting and she just wanted to lie down somewhere and cry. If she was completely honest with herself then she couldn't see a way through this, she couldn't see a way forward, at least not at the moment. She was utterly convinced that Nick blamed her for what had happened, even though he had told her he didn't. She blamed herself, even if Nick didn't and she couldn't see why he would want her around. The whole situation had been her fault, it was stupid to think that things could have gone back to normal; that everything was going to be ok because it wasn't. The only way out of this mess was to run. "I'll call you, I promise but right now, I need to go. I'm sorry for everything."

Nick watched with a heavy heart as she placed her coffee cup down on a coaster and then picked up her shoes that were lying next to the sofa. "Keep it," he said softly as she glanced down at herself, suddenly remembering that she was wearing his shirt.

A quick, silent nod told him that she had heard. "Thanks for the coffee and-" she waved a hand around, hoping that he would understand. He did, he knew what she meant; she was thanking him for being there with her last night. She didn't have to thank him for that, he would have been there no matter what because he was in love with her – her re-appearance had only awoken the feelings that he'd had for her before the riots and if anything, their separation over the last three years had strengthened them so seeing her so intent on leaving this all behind, leaving him behind was hurting him more than he was going to let on – but he was now starting to realise that she didn't quite know that herself yet.

"I meant what I said last night," he said suddenly, remembering the exchange that had taken place between them soon after they had arrived back at his house the night before. "And from what I remember, it sounded like you meant it as well."

"I did." She shot him a tiny, albeit watery smile. "I never stopped loving you and I probably never will which makes this even harder but I know this is for the best. I can't put you through this Nick, it's not fair on you."

He sighed, trying to think of some way of getting through to her. He didn't mind whether she was a mess or not, whether she was struggling to cope with everything that had happened. He just wanted her, he didn't care about anything else; she was the most important thing and it pained him to see that she didn't appear to be able to realise that. "Can you at least give it a little longer? Don't make any rash decisions, please?" He looked at her imploringly. "We'll have some space if that's what you want and if-" he stressed the if. "If in a couple of weeks you still want to go then you can. But please, give it some time – you might start to feel a bit better about being back here once you've settled in again."

"I'll call you." Yvonne repeated firmly, not wanting to agree to anything that would only hurt him more when the inevitable happened. She loved him and that was why she was doing this because she didn't think he could possibly love her back after everything, despite his words to the contrary. She wasn't thinking straight, she was too overwhelmed with being back in familiar surroundings and the conversation they had just had hadn't been the easiest. She was tired, drained and she just needed some time away to figure out what on earth to do next.

He nodded, realising that he wasn't going to get anything more out of her just yet. She hadn't said that she wouldn't consider it and that was something he was grateful for. "Ok. If you want to talk about anything in the meantime then I'm just at the other end of the phone, alright? It doesn't matter how late or early it is, you can call me any time."

Yvonne dipped her head slightly in agreement. "Thanks." She murmured, moving over to where he stood. He immediately encased her in a warm hug, pressing his lips against her temple gently as he muttered that he loved her into her ear before releasing her. He just hoped that this wouldn't be the last time he got to hold her, that he wouldn't be letting her go for the last and final time. Maybe she would come to her senses after she'd had time to think everything through and she would realise that he had meant every word he had said. From what he'd seen of her so far, she appeared to be stuck in her own self-doubting way of thinking and no matter what he said, it wasn't making a difference. Perhaps when she'd had some time alone to think things through, his words would start to get through and she would start to see things a little more clearly; see the whole situation in a different light. He really hoped so and he could allow himself to hold on to that little flutter of hope that he felt because right now, he truly felt that if he didn't have even a tiny bit of hope then he had nothing.

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**Um, please don't hurt me? You could direct any frustration/anger/annoyance/whatever you feel about the contents of this chapter at me in a review if you would like to though. Reviews would definitely be appreciated. One thing I'm not entirely certain on with this chapter is characterisation so let me know what you think about that; have I got it completely off the mark? Or vaguely right? The stuff about memory/PTA came from a mixture of Wikipedia and vague stuff that I can remember from AS Psychology when we were looking at the effects of trauma on memory. If it's not entirely right then I apologise. I'm really not sure about this chapter but I've rewritten it at least twice/three times I think and if I don't post it now, I never will. I hope you liked it and if you have time, it would be great if you leave a review. Even just a little one. Thanks. **


	6. Chapter 6: Yvonne

**A/N: I'm back, finally. Sorry it's taken so long – I'm currently caught up with some family stuff that has to take priority and my internet has decided that now is the time to play up - it's being very sporadic in terms of connectivity so although this has been completed for a few days, I haven't had time to proof read it before now. It's just one big, angsty mess this chapter so if you don't like that sort of stuff then don't read it. Thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed, I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think. An especially massive thank you goes to Checky - hope you enjoy this chapter!  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Casualty belongs to the BBC, no copyright infringement intended. The song belongs to the relevant artist/song writer. The song I've used in this chapter is Broken Doll by Paloma Faith because I thought it fitted in perfectly.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
****Chapter 6: Yvonne  
**

* * *

_I'm a broken doll,  
And you're the puppeteer,  
Take control for me,  
And wipe away my fear.  
I don't claim to be perfect,  
I know I'm damaged goods,  
But I wanna be let out of the darkness,  
Just like every lady would.  
Lick my wounds and watch them seal,  
With a healing heart,  
Embrace my sadness, look after me  
'Cause there's no-one else I'd ask.  
_

* * *

You've done it. You've crumbled and given in to the fear, confusion...all of these emotions, some of which you just can't place, that are flooding throughout your body, more so after the last twenty four hours and you hate yourself more than you already did for hurting him. He's done nothing wrong. Nothing. All he wants to do is help you but you're refusing to let yourself be helped. You're far too stubborn for your own good sometimes and this, well this is most definitely one of those times. You're being ridiculous, you're aware of that much but there's more to it than just a matter of pride. You're too afraid to let him in, you're scared that he will see straight through your carefully arranged mask and see the mess that you're really in. If that happens, you're terrified that he'll run for the hills once he realises just how messed up, how stupid you've become in the last three years and then you won't have anyone. You couldn't cope with that, you know that you couldn't so you've had to go down the self-preservation route somewhat – lash out before you get hurt thus putting the ball in your court. You're controlling things and that's the only way you'll be able to deal with the inevitable rejection. You don't want to get hurt so at the moment being the one who inflicts the pain suits you just fine. That makes you sound like a terrible person but if you're entirely honest with yourself, you can't quite bring yourself to care. You'll keep telling yourself that over the course of the next few days, weeks, however long you have to in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better about your decision. But at the same time, you don't think you could ever forgive yourself for hurting him. He didn't deserve it.

It's all such a mess. A complete and utter mess, a tangled web that mainly consists of all these negative emotions and you're struggling to see a way out of the metaphorical darkness that has surrounded you, that's just waiting for you to fall under so it can consume you. There is no light at the end of this incredibly long tunnel, not that you can see at any rate. There is nothing that is good about this. You don't know if you're coming or going; each way you turn, there seems to be another problem, another issue that crops up, terrifying you more than you could ever coherently explain. You feel like you want to run away as fast and as hard as you can purely so you don't have to deal with anything – you don't have the strength to be able to face up to all your problems and that's another reason you can't stay, you don't want to disappoint Nick with the person that you've become since you've been away.

Your current situation is so up in the air that you're not sure what to do any more. Your brain is screaming at you to 'do the right thing' but how can you do that when you don't even know what that is? You can't even convince yourself that your decision to leave had even been the right one; your mind is so riddled with doubts about anything and everything at the moment but especially about this decision. This one hasty decision, the one decision that you might live to regret – you don't know. You just want it all to go away but you're not sure how to make that happen. You're so confused, so horribly isolated; you feel so cut off from everything that used to be familiar to you that it's a struggle to assemble your thoughts into anything that remotely resembles coherence. Perhaps that's why you started making rash decisions.

Nick had wanted you to stay, he did want you to stay; that much had been crystal clear to you in the way that he had practically begged you not to go. However fear had you in its icy grips and it had, once again, over-ridden any other emotion that you should have been feeling in that situation. In that moment when you had felt so scared for reasons that you couldn't even begin to explain, running away had seemed like the best options and that in turn had been the deciding factor in your decision. Unfortunately you had then verbalised that decision and now that you thought about it – hindsight really is a wonderful thing – you probably shouldn't have verbalised it until you were sure that it was what you wanted to do. But you thought that you did want to go, it's just that now you've got nothing else to do other than think and walk, that decision is suddenly starting to look unappealing. He's right, you know that. You shouldn't run away from your problems and although it did...it does seem like the only option, you're now completely unsure whether it's actually the right thing to do or not. When did everything get so complicated? Probably when you woke up in that hospital bed all alone and completely terrified. Things had just gone (and had continued) on a downward spiral since then. It's your fault. All of it.

You just know that you're craving some sort of normality, you're desperate to try and forget the patchy memories that you have of the riots before you start to remember everything that happened properly – you're more than aware that could happen and that in itself scares you – and you want nothing more than to erase your horribly clear memories of the subsequent three years. If you could forget, would all the feelings that accompany your patchwork memories disappear? It sounds logical to you. But surely if you want to forget then you shouldn't be here. Holby is where it all happened...well it's where the events of the last few years had been put into motion and you hadn't been able to stop it from happening – once you knew anything about it, it had been too late, the deed had been done so to speak. Now you're frightened that being back in Holby is going to unlock things that you don't want to remember, the things that you had probably repressed for good reason. You don't want to be trapped in this living hell for any longer and things would only get worse if you remembered the riots in full, that much you have convinced yourself. It's already difficult enough to get through each day with the shadowy, flickering memories that are ever present as you struggle to put everything into perspective without knowing exactly what happened. Not that you would admit that to anyone – it's taken a while for you to admit that to yourself so telling anyone else is definitely out of the question. If you stay in Holby then all you can see is a dark future ahead of you and you don't want that. You can't quite see out of the darkness, see that everything could be and would be so much better with time and patience. You're very much stuck between the present and the past with the future...your future looking very much uncertain.

However there is one thing that you're forgetting or rather one person. Nick. Holby means Nick. The two words hold a positive correlation in your brain and part of the reason you had agreed to return was that you had missed him like crazy, you were desperate to see him again. Throughout the last three years you had missed him. Really missed him. Missed him more than you thought it was possible to miss someone and because you had known that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn't see him again, you had convinced yourself that if you ever did stumble back into his life or vice versa then he wasn't going to want you, that he would have moved on. It helped to lessen the pain of his absence from your life, not that it was his fault because it wasn't.

Then you had returned to Holby and Nick had blown that theory, the theory that you had spent three long years perfecting, rather spectacularly out of the water within hours of your first proper meeting. He hadn't...hasn't moved on from you and according to him, he still wants you. You can't quite comprehend that. You had expected him, almost wanted him to be angry, to hate you for what had happened because that would have almost certainly made things a whole lot easier but he hadn't. He didn't. He had been remarkably understanding which is something that you're still confused by. After everything you've put him through, you're certain that you don't deserve to be loved, not by him or indeed anyone. Yet he told you that he loved you and if there was only one thing in the entire world that you could be certain of, it would be your feelings for Nick. You love him with all your heart and you don't care if that sounds overly sentimental or cheesy, it's the truth. But despite that, despite your strong feelings for him which are apparently reciprocated, you've still walked away from him. You've walked away from the man who cares about you, who still wants to be with you no matter what. Or so he says and you've hurt him into the bargain. He's done nothing other than show you love and concern and you still walked away, knowing that it would hurt him, that your actions would hurt him. That makes you a terrible person.

You wish with all your heart that you could be brave and manage to summon up the strength from somewhere to stay and face your demons but you're worried that if you stay, you'll end up needing him too much and then he'll get fed up with you – that's if you don't manage to push him away for good beforehand. You don't want to be seen as clingy, you hate the thought of being the type of person that needs someone to protect them because that had never been part of your personality, you had always been fiercely independent but it had become rather apparent to you once you had woken up all those years ago that the riots had taken that away from you as well. You hate how affected by the riots even three years down the track – you're convinced that you should have dealt with it by now and moved on instead of being stuck with all this bottled up anger that just seems to give way to the fear, the apprehension that you feel deep down inside of you, years later. You really don't want to hurt him but you're convinced that you'll hurt him more in the long run by staying so maybe a few weeks of pain for the pair of you is preferable to the months of emotional torment that is undoubtedly waiting round the corner for you if you do stay. Even if you end up having to deal with it all alone, at least you won't be putting anyone else through it. You're already exhausted by the amount of conflicting emotions that are pulsating through your body – emotions that you hadn't even thought you were capable of feeling – a lot stronger, more powerful here in Holby than they ever had been in London. But at least you're feeling something, that's preferable to the numb, empty feeling that you feel on the rare occasions you manage to forget about everything for a while. It's never for long but you'd rather feel negative emotions than feel nothing because as horrible as they are, you at least feel a little more human when you're experiencing some sort of emotion.

Maybe Holby isn't the best place for you despite what everyone else thinks. You don't know. You're just tired, exhausted of everything. Tired of running, tired of not having the strength to face up to this unresolved situation that you know you need to deal with. Running did seem like the best option but now you're not so sure. Where can you run to? You've got no-one. No family to speak of, no friends. You're completely alone in this world and for a brief moment, that realisation hurts more than anything else.

Of course there is the option that you had initially been resistant to. Staying. You're not sure whether running away really would be the best solution. It's a solution, certainly but whether it would be the right thing for you in the long run is something completely different altogether. It might work as a short term solution but even you know that you've got to be realistic, you've got to start looking at things with a long term view despite the fact you can't see a future for yourself because you've got to start putting your life back together, piece by painful piece.

Nick had proposed a solution to your current predicament; to stay or to go. He wanted you to stay in Holby for a couple more weeks just to see how things went, to see whether you would begin to feel a little bit more secure as you settled back in. If you still wanted to leave after you had given it a try for a few weeks then he definitely wouldn't stop you and you could leave guilt free. If you left because things hadn't worked out then it would almost certainly make you feel less guilty than if you left just because you couldn't cope with Holby at first. It certainly seemed like an amicable solution for both of you but just as you started to come round to the idea, a small whisper of doubt started up in your mind. Could you really cope with Holby in the long term? Or even for just a few more weeks at best?

The positive side to this however – yes, you've finally found something in this whole hopeless situation which is enough to give you a small glimmer of hope – is that you would be closer to Nick for a little while longer even if you decided to leave in the end. You suppose that it would give you more of a chance to work you where you really stand and you would be able to see if there was any chance of salvaging anything from this mess. The fact that you would be near Nick, mileage wise at least, makes you feel a little bit better but that quickly dissipates as that annoying whisper of doubt in the back of your mind intensifies. Uncertainty fills you once again as more doubts begin to circle your mind, becoming stronger with every single step away from Nick's house that you take. You hate this. You don't know what to do; you really don't. You're so confused, you're feeling even more alone than you had before if that was even possible and these doubts that your brain keeps throwing up really isn't helping you feel any better.

Does he really want you? You're painfully aware that there is a chance that he's just saying he still loves you and he wants you to make you feel better. He's not stupid, he can probably see that something is troubling you – you had guessed that it was probably written all over your face the night before even though you had managed to sort out your 'everything is just fine, perfect, there's nothing to worry about' façade overnight. You didn't...you don't want to worry him but it doesn't even occur to you that you might be worrying him more by behaving like you are than if you just stayed and talked things through with him properly, told him all of your worries rather than just bottling them up and pretending that they weren't there, hoping that they would go away. If you're right – you really hope you're not, this is something you would be quite happy to be wrong about – and he doesn't want to be with you or if you stay and manage to push him away by being too needy or something along those lines then you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the rejection. Hang on, you're sure that your thoughts have been down this line before; they're starting to come full circle now, you're starting to go over the same thing again which seriously cannot be good. You're thinking far too much and that can't be doing you any good whatsoever.

You're in an odd place at the moment – even in your current emotional state, you can recognise that and you're not entirely sure what is best for you. You know that you should do the best thing for you, not anyone else but you can't do that if you don't know what that it. At the moment, you can't quite figure out what is right and what's not. You sort of think that it would be a whole lot easier if someone else took over and told you what to do; took that decision out of your hands. You wouldn't like it, of course you wouldn't – you've had three years of people telling you what to do for crying out loud. Three years of other people thinking that they know what's best for you without even consulting you or even considering your opinion and you resented them for that, in fact you still do. But at the moment, you can't help but feel that it would be easier for someone to tell you what to do even if it was only a short term solution. You know that no-one can take this away for you, make things easier because there is no magic fix – you've got to do it yourself, no-one can take that burden on for you no matter how much they might want to and quite frankly, you wouldn't want them to because despite how awful you're currently feeling, you know that you have to deal with it yourself if you're ever going to move on, no matter how difficult it might be or how terrified you are at the prospect of revisiting the past.

If you actually stop for a moment and think about things properly then you'll remember that technically – only technically, mind – someone has already made your decision for you. That decision was made the day that the idea of you returning to Holby and attempting to rebuild your life here was first thrown about. When you had stopped resisting and started looking at it without letting the emotions that Holby meant to you rule your mind, you had come round to their way of thinking and you had therefore set that decision in stone – metaphorically at least. Now you were giving up before you had even started. Suddenly it's like someone has flicked a switch in your brain as it dawns on you that Nick was right – giving up wasn't you. Even though it feels like you're stuck in a never ending storm and you can't quite see the clouds clearing any time soon, you can still recognise that running away isn't you. Before this had all started, you would never have considered it, no matter how tough things got. But you're forced to remind yourself that you're different now. Your experiences have affected you badly – why, you really don't know – and they have shaped the person that you are now, the person that you've been over the last three years. In response, your behaviour has changed, the way you deal with things that crop up has changed and you certainly don't feel as tough as you used to be. You don't recognise yourself; you don't know who you are any more and that is honestly terrifying.

A sigh that seems to come from deep inside you escapes your lips as you continue walking, too wrapped up in all the thoughts, the conflicting emotions that are ever present as your mind spins through the mess you're convinced you're stuck in to notice that you're walking in the wrong direction and you have been for some time. Your head is really starting to pound painfully now with all the thoughts, worries, everything that is rushing through your brain leaving you feeling completely and utterly drained. You just hope one of those damn headaches you've experienced ever since the riots won't materialise any time soon, that's something you could really do without. There just seems to be no end to it. Every time, every single time you think that you've made a decision, you come up with another reason to do the opposite and now it's really starting to take it's toll on you. You need to take control. You need to make a decision but that doesn't necessarily have to be done tonight as long as it gets done at some point. It could wait until tomorrow at the earliest or even a couple more days. Nothing has to be done today and although it's barely afternoon, you're exhausted and if you did make a decision when you're this tired, this confused then you'll only regret it the next day or, worst case scenario, a little further down the track.

The sound of shouting, arguing somewhere in the near distance grabs your attention and you're immediately alert as you instinctively push your thoughts to the back of your mind; the police officer in you coming to fore once more and taking over. You stop in your tracks before glancing around, a shiver going down your spine and your heart rate quickening as you recognise your surroundings. Realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, leaving you dazed momentarily as you slowly process the information that your brain is giving you. You've been walking the wrong way for...well you're not actually sure how long it's been since you hastily left Nick's house but you're quite sure that it's been a while – a couple of hours at most. However long it's been is irrelevant now though, the only thing you're bothered about is the fact that you've just noticed that your previously good sense of direction has spectacularly failed.

You take another sweeping look around, an uneasy feeling flooding over you. You recognise the dark shapes of the block of flats that indicate to you that the Somerdale estate is close by. You're there. Where it all happened and you're painfully aware that if you continue walking in this direction then you'll be back there and that's not somewhere you want to be. Ever. You feel yourself beginning to panic; your heart is pounding wildly in your chest and your palms are growing sweatier by the second. You try to tell yourself that it's okay, it's all over, nothing can hurt you, nobody can hurt you but your mind is racing and your body doesn't seem to agree with the calming thoughts that you're trying your best to focus on. Your breathing automatically hitches as your chest tightens, the simple act of breathing purely to stay alive suddenly seeming so much harder...impossible almost. You stare, wide eyed at the shapes of the buildings that are about a hundred meters away from you. They're the trigger. Suddenly your mind involuntarily flashes back to the riots and you can hear the shouts of the crowds, Nick's voice as he tries to reassure you are loud in your ears, slowly merging together into something incomprehensible but still continuing to echo round and round your brain as images dance in front of your eyes, taunting you. It's like you're stuck in your own personal horror film with some – not all – of the tattered memories that you thought you had forgotten forever coming flooding back to you as you stand there, your feet glued to the ground in fear. You can't move, can't do anything other than stand there, trembling as you struggle for breath; the vivid memories assaulting your mind. You feel like you're back there, injured and vulnerable, trying your best not to let the terror you're feeling overwhelm you.

"Oi miss, you alright?" A voice interrupts the memories that are running round your brain like a video tape stuck on loop and you turn, still struggling for every breath, still shaking violently, to come face to face with a boy of about fifteen sitting on his bike. He's peering at you with a mixture of concern and uncertainty and you know for sure then that you're in a complete state. Fear is gripping you, washing over you causing nausea to bubble in your stomach. You just want out of this place, you want this to all go away. Keep calm, you're okay. Nothing can hurt you, you're okay. Just breathe, all you have to do is your body doesn't agree with yet another of your attempts to calm yourself down – if anything, you're working yourself up into more of a state – and your flight or fight reflex is screaming at you, louder than ever before to get the hell out of there. Now.

"F-fine...I'm fine.." you manage to gasp out as your left hand flies to your chest, pain exploding through you. Your right is holding your bag close to you in a protective manner. God you wish you could breathe properly. Why can't you breathe? It hurts. It really hurts and you just want, you need someone to take it all away; to make it stop.

Please make it stop, please.

He's still there, frowning at you with his elbows resting on his bike. He obviously doesn't believe you're okay either despite your best efforts to convince yourself and him that you are. You've tried everything you can think of to calm yourself down but it's not working and you can't breathe properly. Every jagged breath you take hurts more than the one before but it's necessary pain. Keep breathing. It's painful, so painful. It feels like a thousand sharp knifes are stabbing at your chest as you hyperventilate; a band of fear compressing your chest tightly like a belt that is far too tight as your body struggles to get enough air. Your head is swimming, everything looks weird, feels strange. The boy and his bike suddenly seem so far away even though they're right next to you. You feel dizzy, light headed – it's an odd feeling, you can't quite describe it properly – and your limbs are tingling. Pins and needles. You need Nick now, you just need him but he's not there with you and it's your own stupid fault; you ran away from him.

"Fine..." you rasp again, your voice sounding rough, unlike you even to your own ears. You stumble away from him, nearly falling as you head back in the direction you had come from. Why you're attempting to talk, you have no idea but you feel compelled to try and wipe that worried look off of his face. It's sweet that he's stopped, that he's concerned but you just wish that he would leave you alone. You're terrified and you're embarrassed by your rather violent reaction to one place. You know that it's unlikely that he'll know why you're in this state even if he does remember and recognise you from the riots or from the events that led up to the riots but you're not thinking straight, you feel trapped. It's just a place, it can't hurt you but you just know that you need to get away from it. You're not even sure if you're supposed to be walking around when you feel this ill, when you're caught up in a haze of panic but you have an overwhelming desire to get away from here, to get back to Nick's. You'll be safe there. You're terrified, alone and you just want to feel safe again. Nick makes you feel safe, he makes you feel secure and at the moment, you're craving the feeling of protection. You absolutely hate the thought of needing someone, of being reliant on someone – it doesn't sit well with the fiery, independent streak that is still in you although it's stifled somewhere under the mess of panic, fear, anger and god knows how many other negative emotions that all charge through your body on a daily basis. Right now – although you'll feel differently later, once you can breathe, once the shaking has stopped, when you feel less sick – you don't care about these new layers that have formed, adding to the already complex layers that make up your personality, control the way you react to things even if they are bringing out insecurities and fears you didn't even know you had. Now you just care about finding a way out of this mad panic, a way to feel better. As pain stabs through your chest again as you're forced to take another ragged breath, your jumbled thoughts dissipate as you're overcome with a desire to find Nick. You just want this to stop.

The piercing screech of bike tyres as the boy accompanied by his cycle come to a stop next to you breaks through your fogged mind a few moments later and you stumble violently against a nearby wall, scraping your hand hard against the rough bricks. The pain doesn't even register – you're too busy trying to control your breathing, trying to calm yourself down – so you don't feel the searing pain that shoots up your arm nor the warm, sticky sensation that is created by blood slowly dripping down your fingers. You feel sick, very sick, almost like you might throw up any minute which is something you really don't want to happen. You have no issue with throwing up other than the fact that if it happened in public, you have no doubt that it would be incredibly embarrassing especially whilst you're in this sort of state. It certainly wouldn't make you feel better, if anything it's likely to make you feel worse. Your thoughts turn back to your symptoms, your analytic mind slowly processing them. Your breathing is slightly easier – that's good – but your chest still hurts badly every time you inhale and then exhale – not so good. The tingling in your hands and feet is still there, worsening if anything and that's enough to scare you senseless. Not that you need to feel any more terrified that you currently do.

The boy looks at you, tilting his head to the left. "Hey miss, where you going?" His accent is local, rough around the edges and it breaks into your thoughts, stopping you from focusing on your fears as you focus on his voice, the question that he's asking you, all the time attempting to slow your breathing enough so you can coherently talk. "D'ya need anything? Ambulance?"

You shake your head frantically at that question, unbidden tears stinging the back of your eyes. He's just trying to help but ambulance means paramedics, paramedics mean hospital and you're all too aware that the hospital means Nick's colleagues. You can't cope with them seeing you in such a state, in fact you can't cope with them seeing you at all yet. It's too much to deal with in such a little space of time. You're not sure whether Nick has actually told anyone whether you're alive or not, you suspect he probably hasn't which undoubtedly means that as far as they know, you're dead and you're really not in the mood to give anyone a shock or even attempt to explain to anyone else at the moment why you're not actually dead like you're supposed to be. You push yourself away from the wall and try to take another few shaky steps before you give in and collapse back against it, the firm structure supporting you but for how much longer, you don't know. You can't move. You feel sick, dizzy and pain is continuing to explode through your body. Your breathing is better but still not great. The thought of being stuck there, helpless and vulnerable, is enough to send another major wave of panic through you which really won't help you or your current situation.

You lean against the wall for a few more moments, your breathing jagged and uneven and just then, out of nowhere, a thought pops into your mind. You vaguely wonder why you didn't think of this before as you shakily push your hand into the pocket of your jeans, your fingers closing around the shape of your mobile. Perhaps he could call Nick for you – he's still there, watching you anxiously. It's a worth a risk – your phone is old so if he runs off with it then you won't miss it too much. That's an awful thought, you know that but years of experience has taught you that people aren't usually what they seem and you'd rather be wary than too trusting. Decision made, you pull your phone out of your pocket and hold it out to him, trying to regulate your breathing enough to make this last request. Now that just sounds melodramatic, you're probably not dying even though it feels like your chest is about to explode. "N-Nick..." you gasp out as your head spins, your legs shake violently as if they're jelly. You give in, too exhausted to fight any longer and slide to the floor, your eyes slipping closed against the sudden, stronger wave of nausea that engulfs you. "P-phone..Nick..please?"

Your eyes stay closed so you don't see him nod in agreement but seconds later you hear the sound of him getting off of his bike and then the sound of it being laid gently down on the ground. Footsteps approach you, quiet and timid and he takes your phone out of your grasp, immediately taking a step back from where you are slumped on the surprisingly cold ground, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. Too fast. Pain continues to assault your body as you take ragged lungfuls of air, trying to normalize your breathing. But it's still not working and everything hurts. It really hurts. You hear the small sound of buttons being pressed and relief takes over fleetingly – those buttons will eventually lead him to Nick's name in your sparse contact list.

Not long now. Just breathe.

Please answer Nick, please.

* * *

_Piece me all together,  
The broken high and sweet,  
You thought my heart was made of wood,  
But I can hear it beat.  
__I'm scared of the shadows in the night,  
__When you're not there by my side,  
__Sick of nightmares in my sleep,  
__There's no place I can hide.  
I'm a broken doll,  
__And you're the puppeteer,  
__Take control for me  
__And wipe away my fear._

* * *

**There you go. This chapter sort of evolved so it's a lot longer than I had originally anticipated. The next chapter is Nick's take on things and things will start to move on a little more from there. Thank you for reading and if you have time, it would be great if you could leave a review even if it's just a few words. The next chapter will be up as soon as possible but I can't put a time frame on it. I will try my best not to leave you waiting for too long though. **


	7. Chapter 7: Nick

**A/N: I wasn't going to post this yet but it's finished and my internet is behaving for the moment - how long for, I have no idea - so I thought I'd do a quick read through and post it so that you have something - not sure how long the next chapter is going to take, hopefully it won't be too long. So, here's Nick's take on the whole situation for you. Thanks to everyone who's left a review, I really appreciate it and I'm glad that you're enjoying it. I will try and reply to reviews as soon as I can, may not be this week though.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Casualty belongs to the BBC; no copyright infringement intended and the song that I've used (Never Tear Us Apart - Paloma Faith) belongs to the appropriate artist. **

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 7: Nick  
**

* * *

_Don't ask me,  
__What you know is true,  
__Don't have to tell you,  
__I love your precious heart.  
__I, I was standing,  
__You were there,  
__Two worlds collided,  
__And they could never tear us apart.  
_

* * *

The front door closed with a thud, the dull sound reverberating around the silent house in stark reminder that she had disappeared from his life once again. Nick Jordan released the breath that he hadn't even realised he had been holding in as he sank down on to his comfortable squashy sofa, his mind immediately beginning to reel through the events of the morning.

She was gone. It really was as simple as that. She had been there, talking to him and now she wasn't there any longer. Maybe it had been a little more complicated than that; after all she hadn't vanished into thin air, he vaguely knew where she had gone. The little tell tale signs that she's been there surround him – traces of her perfume are still hanging in the air, that distinctive scent that was just so irrevocably her. It was the scent that had always made him feel a little bit better in his darkest moments throughout the last three years.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly as his brain struggles to comprehend what had just happened. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Things weren't supposed to end like this.

They had been talking, discussing tiny portions of her life after the riots. It had been painful for her, that much he had realised but now he'd had time to think about it, he honestly hadn't grasped just how hard it was for her to talk or even think about. Part of him can't help but wonder whether he pushed her too much, whether he pushed her into talking about the things that had happened after the riots or not. Whether he had put too much pressure on it and he just hadn't realised it at the time. She had been nervous about talking but he had expected that much – he could only imagine how difficult it must be for her – but she had agreed to it nonetheless. But there's still a part of him that's worried he pushed her into it before she was ready which in turn had led up to her next move.

He still can't quite believe it's happened. Her demeanour had changed, the mood in the room had shifted but before he'd had time to react to it, she'd made a snap decision. There had been little to no indication leading up to their conversation that leaving was something she desperately wanted to do. It had been on her mind, that much he did know but he hadn't known that she was seriously thinking of disappearing again. But then she had changed the direction of the conversation completely without warning by announcing that it would be better if she left. From the outside, looking in, it had almost been like someone had flicked a switch in her brain or something; that's how fast she had made her mind up. It had all happened a little too quickly for his liking, she had barely given either of them time to process the monumental bombshell that she had landed before she had gone. She had disappeared from his life again but this time it had been her choice and her choice alone. Just thinking about it hurts. Stings. It really does.

Before all this had happened, back when he hadn't known any better and he thought she was dead, that she was never coming back, he'd had this dull ache in the pit of his stomach. It's back and it's a harsh reminder of everything that he'd thought he had lost. It's there, slowly eating away and if he's not careful, he'll let it consume him. That's something he really doesn't want to happen. If someone asked him to describe how it felt then he wouldn't be sure that he could begin to try and put it into words. Quite simply, it feels like a persistent ache deep down in the bottom of his stomach and it's omnipresent, no matter what he does. It just won't be shifted. The fact that it's back does nothing other than remind him that he hadn't felt it for a few days, in fact he hadn't felt it since he had met her unexpectedly in the car park a few nights ago. She had given him a shock, there was no doubt about it and suddenly, the last three years seem like a life time ago. She's back but he's on the verge of losing her again and he doesn't know what on earth he can do about it.

Realistically, he knows that he has to let her make a decision on her own without pushing her – even accidentally – one way or the other but part of him just wants to go and find her and demand that she stays even if it's just to make him feel better. It's selfish and he hates himself for thinking it, even only fleetingly but he's only just found her again and he really can't bear the thought of losing her. Not again. He can't go through all this pain again.

However if she isn't coming back, if she isn't planning on returning then he knows that he needs to find a way to cope with her absence. There must be one, after all he thinks he's been managing all right for the last three years. But that was different, the whole situation was different and now that everything has been turned upside down, he's not sure how he's going to cope without her. It sounds melodramatic but quite honestly, she's touched his life in so many ways that he doesn't want to imagine how different things will be if she disappears again. There's no way that he could begin to explain to the way he feels to anyone else when she's not there. No-one else could understand. Of course, he did it once, that much he does know but it was a different kind of pain then. He didn't know any different. But now...well who knows? Somehow though, he's aware that he'll find a way through. There's always a way.

Despite everything, despite the horrible ache that he's feeling; the pain that she's inflicted on him by walking out on him without so much as a backward glance, he still can't bring himself to feeling anything negative towards her. The emotions that fill him, course through him when he thinks about her are all positive; love, concern, things like that. He could go on for a while about all the different emotions that he feels towards her but there are two main ones, the ones he feels the most that he's concentrating on at the moment. Love. And concern. Mainly love though but it's accompanied by a rather large dose of concern. He's concerned that she's not in the best frame of mind at the moment, worried that she's intending to deal with this all by herself because she couldn't do that, she was going to need some support at some point even if, at the moment, she didn't think she would. He knows differently however, he's seen it all happen before on a similar scale. He could never compare any two situations though because you can't, it's impossible, there would always be a defining factor that sets them apart from the other but he's seen for himself people, patients who have convinced themselves that they're managing fine on their own without support with whatever life has thrown their way even though it's been obvious that they're not coping. Not at all. He's seen what can happen when everything becomes too much to deal with, to cope with alone and that worries him more than anything.

She's not talking to him and he doesn't know whether she's got anyone else that she would consider talking to so he's worried that she's not talking to anyone. That she's just bottling it all up, locking it away and hoping that everything will fix itself. It won't and there will come a time when she needs to let someone in, needs to let someone share this burden with her because this whole situation will eventually take it's toll on her and when that happens, she's going to need someone to pick up the pieces for her. He desperately wants to be the one to put her back together again but at the moment, it's obvious that she doesn't want help, not from him nor anyone else. He had been hoping that she was talking to someone even if it wasn't to him but he's forced to remind himself that he's seen nothing in her actions that would indicate she's ready to share her pain with anyone else. That, added on to everything else, really does worry him. He just wants to know that she's okay or not – it's probably a silly thing to think because it's startlingly obvious that she's not – a familiar desire to make sure she's all right before anything else is filling him, over-riding any negative emotions that may or may not have come to the fore in the wake of her sudden departure.

Would it be over the top, too dramatic to say that she had gone for good? Or even think it? Because he doesn't actually know for sure that was what had happened, she had literally just said that she needed space...that she thought you both needed space and some time to think things through. There was always the chance – even if it did appear to be incredibly slim at the moment – that she might return, wasn't there? Or was he just kidding himself? Hoping, wishing, even praying for something that was never going to happen. He doesn't know. He really doesn't know what to think at the moment; he still can't quite get his head around the seemingly looming prospect of losing her for good a second time.

It would undoubtedly be worse this time around, it would be...it had been her choice to leave and if she didn't get back in touch within the next few days then he's convinced himself – rightly or wrongly – that she probably never would. That really was going to hurt. It did hurt. He just hopes that once she's had some time alone, some time to think things through by herself that she'll start thinking a little bit more clearly and then she would come back and hopefully let him in, let herself be helped. But he's not sure whether that is pure speculation, just hope on his behalf or whether it was actually a realistic possibility – after all she had sounded rather certain about her decision even if it did seem like it had been made on the spur of the moment, that she hadn't actually thought it through. Too many lines of thought are buzzing around his head and he doesn't know which one to go down. Sitting there, going through it all in his head probably isn't helping a great deal either but if he's honest, it's the only thing he knows how to do. The whole thing is a complete and utter mess, that much he has realised. It really is.

He knows her and he knows when she's struggling with something which had always been useful when they had been together – he had always been able to spot when she'd had a bad day and he'd been able to do something for her to brighten her day, to make things seem a little less terrible whether it had been something major that she had been upset about or something not quite so big but still valid nonetheless. The latter had only used to happen when she had been working for days on a case and she hadn't had much sleep. Everything did seem so much worse when you hadn't been sleeping properly, that much he did know.

Right now, he's fairly sure that she's going through something that he doesn't necessarily understand. It doesn't make her pain any less valid but it's a lot harder for him to help her when he's not quite sure exactly what is wrong. He can guess though and right now, he's having to go with his instinct, believe what his gut is telling him. However the one thing he is sure about is that she is all over the place as are her emotions, that much he had deduced from the night they had spent together. But still every time he had asked if she was okay, her answer had always been the same, been positive as if she was attempting to hide how she really felt from him. That worries him. Sometimes there were certain things that were just too big for anyone to handle on their own, no matter how good their coping mechanism is and he's pretty sure – judging by everything that he's seen so far – that this is one of them. It seems that she's trying to make out everything is fine even though she obviously isn't in a futile attempt to deal with it alone or to make sure that you don't worry about her. Whatever her reasons behind this 'I'm fine, everything's okay' mantra that she appears to have constructed, it's not working and he's more worried now he's taken the time to think about everything than he had already been if that's possible.

Surrounded by darkness. That's the term that he would probably use to describe her at the moment. That's certainly how it had seemed to him. It probably wouldn't for anyone who isn't looking for it, isn't desperately worried about her but she's seemingly encased in this cloud of despair, fear, whatever – he's not quite sure which at the moment and he's terrified that she's going to sink further and further into this darkness that she appears to be falling in to, not letting anyone help her until it was too late and she couldn't quite push herself back to the surface again. Either that or he's worried that she's going to disappear without a word about where she's planning to go – if she's even thought that far ahead – so that she can struggle alone for the next few days, weeks, however long simply because she's got this ridiculous notion in her head that he wouldn't care, that he doesn't really want her. She doesn't want to burden anyone else with this, that much is apparent but she wouldn't be – he really does want to help her. She can't deal with this alone. No-one could. Everyone has a breaking point no matter how strong they are or like to think they are and going off her behaviour coupled with the little she had told him about the last few years, he's starting to think that she surpassed hers a while back. If he's right then he knows that at some point, it will all have to come out, one way or another.

The positive part of everything that he had witnessed from her so far was that physically she had seemed fine to him which is something that relieves him. Far more than he could put into words. The physical scars had probably faded a while back but Nick's been a doctor for long enough to be able to know, sense when there's something else at play. Call it intuition. Or experience. He's convinced that there's more to it, a lot more, than she's willing to let on. Her behaviour, the way she reacts to things are that of someone who has been through immense trauma and been left emotionally scarred as a result. It's understandable for her to be affected by everything that had happened – most people would be. First she had gone through the riots, been injured, vulnerable, frightened in the middle of it all with only him and two paramedics inside the ambulance to protect her whilst people had attacked the ambulance. Then she had been uprooted from everything that she knew, the people and places that were familiar to her and placed somewhere that she didn't know whilst she was unconscious. She woke up on her own and quite probably frightened out of her mind. Taking all of that into account then, yes, it's understandable for her experiences to have a longer lasting effect on her. Especially if she hadn't dealt with it at the time and he suspects that she hasn't dealt with it at all – her behaviour certainly isn't that of someone who's dealt with things. He's sure that it all runs that much deeper than she wants anyone to know.

It's the little things that give her away, the tiny changes in her behaviour that would be scarcely visible to anyone who doesn't know her like he does. Take last night for instance, she had been quiet enough for the first few hours she had been asleep, content in his arms but then he had been woken – he's a light sleeper these days – by her becoming distressed, restless beside him in the early hours of the morning. He hadn't been a hundred percent sure what was scaring her and he still wasn't, it hadn't been immediately obvious but again, it's something that he could guess or assume. Whatever it was, it had unsettled her. Luckily it hadn't taken much to calm her down and that's something that had relieved him immensely at the time but if her nightmare or whatever she had been suffering with had been allowed to take hold then it might have had a different outcome. All it had taken to soothe her was a light kiss against her clammy temple and then him drawing her closer to his body. The comfort of his presence beside her, the physical contact had been more than enough to quieten her and she had slept peacefully after that although she had clung to him tightly throughout the rest of the night as if she had been afraid that he would vanish if she let go of him. When he had awoken that morning, she had still been clinging on to his shirt tightly, the material bunched tightly in her fists. As the day had worn on however, her behaviour had completely contradicted the way she had been last night which confused and concerned him in equal measures. It had done nothing other than convince him that she wasn't all right, she wasn't okay at all but she was trying to hide how she really felt from him which upset him. She would have her reasons, of course she would and he was desperate for her to enlighten him but for her to do that, she would have to come back and be willing to talk. Neither of which looked very likely at the moment. That could change though.

Some of the things she had said last night and that morning hadn't made sense to him at the time either and in fact, they still didn't. She had told him that she didn't want to put him through it but she hadn't elaborated on what 'it' was so he'd had to draw his own conclusions. It was amazing how she could say so little yet so much and all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and tell her that he just wanted to be with her, no matter what. He wished that he had told her whilst he'd had the chance. Maybe she would still be here if she had just realised that he wanted her because of his feelings for her, not because he felt sorry for her, felt compelled to want to help her because they had been in a relationship or because he pitied her. Whatever she had running through her head that meant she couldn't quite bring herself to let him in, he wanted to prove to her that his feelings for her were still the same as they had been three years ago when they had been happy, content with each other. In fact, if anything, they were stronger. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. His feelings for her certainly haven't changed even though it's obvious that she's struggling with her own demons or that she's in a bit of a mess. Neither of those things change his feelings for her and he's quite sure that there wasn't much that could, if anything. Unfortunately, she hasn't quite grasped that yet and he's aware that it could take time. The only thing that matters to him is her and he knows that Yvonne plus her experiences and how they have affect her come as a package and he honestly doesn't mind. Everyone hits rough patches at one time or another, he knows that from experience and he just wants to help her get through it. His reasoning behind it is quite simple; he loves her and he knows that somehow, he would be able to help her through it, that they would tackle it together and eventually, everything would be all right again. But how does one convince someone that they're loved, they're cared about when they have seemingly manage to convince themselves that nobody cares? That nobody should care. Nick knows that it's a question he'll have to find an answer to quick smart so he can try and get her to see the reasons behind his actions.

Nick's fairly sure – almost beyond all reasonable doubt - that was what had happened with her; she's managed to convince herself that he doesn't mean a word he says just in case he doesn't. It's a way of protecting herself from any more pain, that much he does know and understand but just because he understands it doesn't mean he has to like it. He's not quite sure how to break through these defences that she's built up around herself, a protective wall almost and make her see that she doesn't have to protect herself from him. He just wants to help her and he would try his best not to hurt her. He would never hurt her intentionally. It just seems like nothing he says or does is going to make a difference, at least not at the moment. He can repeat this all to her and he knows that if he gets half the chance, he most certainly will but in the end, it all boils down to what she thinks. It's something that she has to make her own mind up about, he can't do that for her no matter how much he would love to.

She's been alone for a while now, he had guessed that much. When they had met up again last night, she had been hesitant as if she was unsure of how to act around him. She hadn't mentioned that she had allowed herself to get close to anyone whilst she had been away and what with her behaviour, the way she is, he can't help but imagine that she has gotten used to being alone and that it's going to take time, a lot of patience and reassurance if she's going to trust anyone. It hurts that she doesn't seem to trust him but he sort of understands why. She's had no-one else to rely on other than herself so it's going to be difficult for her to break that habit. He's just got to make sure that he doesn't do anything to betray any trust that she may decide to put in him because that could seriously damage everything that he's working to rebuild. However this could all be premature, he doesn't actually know if she's staying or not yet. But thinking about it, it's almost like she's become accustomed to being alone, used to being let down, to having to put on a brave face just so she can't get herself through the day despite how rotten she might be feeling inside. If she does come back then he's made a promise with himself. A promise to try his best to make sure that she feels loved and wanted. He doesn't want her feeling alone any more.

He sighs deeply again and pulls himself out of his thoughts, realising that he's done rather a lot of assuming. He's been assuming that he knows how she feels even though he doesn't and he could be completely and utterly wrong. If she does come back, that's something he must stop – she never did like people thinking they knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling or what was best for her. It's probably the best way to irritate her. As well as that, he was beginning to notice that his thoughts were starting to go round and round in the same sort of circles which means that he's beginning to repeat himself. That's not necessarily a good thing but if in some strange way, it's helping his brain sort it all out and adapt to the situation as it stands at the moment then it could be a good thing. He sits there for a few more moments before deciding that it's about time he got on with his day instead of sitting there, moping around the place. It's not healthy, it's not helping.

A quick glance at his watch informs him that it's barely afternoon but as he glances out of the window, he's rather unsure as to whether his watch is right. The sky is rather grey and overcast almost like it's going to rain any minute. Everything looks so much darker as it does when there's a storm approaching. It feels a lot later than it actually is. Time has actually passed fairly quickly considering that relatively little has happened since Yvonne left. Nick digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone, ensuring that it is on loud before he puts it down on the coffee table next to his stone cold drink. The last thing he wants is for his phone to be on silent and then for her to phone but not get through because he doesn't hear or see that there's an incoming call and then assume that he doesn't want to know. Whilst she's in this frame of mind – there he goes again with the assumptions, he really must stop them – then he knows that she would probably read far too much into his actions and automatically convince herself that the opposite – the bad option – of whatever it was that he meant to do was happening. That would leave him with a problem. And probably a headache. It wouldn't be good, either way.

He stretches out his muscles before getting to his feet and wandering over to the drinks cabinet that sits at the far side of the room, tempting him into drinking. He casts a glance over it, his mind in constant conflict. A small part of him is telling him that a drink would help him to feel a little bit better about his current situation but he's more than aware that one drink would probably lead to two, then three and it would continue from there. However the logical (and thankfully larger) part of him is telling him firmly not to drink anything because a) it was far too early and b) drink isn't going to solve anything other than quite possibly make him feel worse about things, cause him to do something he would later regret or both. He really doesn't want to risk it.

What on earth is he going to do now? He's completely and utterly unsure. If things had gone a little bit better, gone the way they were supposed to then she might still be here, maybe teasing him, generally being silly or be curled up with him on the sofa as they watch one of his action films that you know she dislikes but she'll quite happily sit through complete with her own albeit sarcastic running commentary for him. She would make sure that there was no doubt in his mind that she didn't like the film, she always had done. He never had been sure why she put up with it if even a small part of her didn't enjoy it but maybe she felt compelled to do so seeing as he was quite happy to sit through films of her choice even if he did point out all the plot flaws. He misses that, the rare nights in when neither of them have work, neither of them are on call, when they're too exhausted to do anything other than collapse on the sofa with a takeaway, bottle of wine and a film that they never could agree on. It would all be playful banter though and he really does miss it. It's always the little things you miss the most. That certainly is true for him.

The house seems so much quieter without her as well. It's a painful silence, almost taunting him. It's reminding him that once again, he's on his own which doesn't do anything to improve his mood. The unbearable silence, the one that he's vaguely managed to adjust to over the last few years by continually coming home to an empty house is the one that fills his house at the moment and he really does hate it. He'd adjusted to it but he'd never gotten used to it – he used to put the radio or television on as soon as he walked in the door just so he wouldn't hear the silence that comes when there's no-one at home waiting for you. Somehow it feels worse, more unbearable now than it ever did before. Maybe that's down to everything that's happened that day. It's a plausible theory.

He gets up off the sofa and walks into the kitchen, deciding then and there that he really needs something constructive to do so that he can take his mind off of everything. His thoughts always seem to wander back to her and he knows that sitting there thinking about her isn't going to bring her back to him, it isn't going to make things easier. Not really. It just reminds him of everything he lost, both three years ago and earlier today when she left again. That hurts. Tenderly, he puts her to the back of his mind in the manner that he's become accustomed to throughout the last three years as he looks around for something to do. Something that's a little bit more interesting than paperwork. He has a stack of paperwork somewhere that needs to be completed at some point – preferably soon – but it's not that urgent. It's tedious and he knows that if he starts on it at the moment, he'll just get distracted by his thoughts again which something that he's trying really hard not to do. It would just be a vicious circle. That's probably the best excuse for paperwork avoidance that he's come up with for a long time.

Shopping. He needs to go shopping at some point so he decides that he might as well make a list of everything that he needs. Effectively killing two birds with one stone in that he'll be able to distract himself as well as ensure that he doesn't forget anything when he does get round to going on that shopping trip. It's multi-tasking, surely? Who says that men can't multi-task? At least if he's actively having to think of other things then he wouldn't catch himself worrying about where she was, whether she was okay or not and things like that – he knows that subconsciously, he probably is always worrying about her especially at the moment and he supposes that's because he cares deeply for her. If he didn't care then he wouldn't be worrying so if he continues along that line of thought then the worrying ended up being a good thing. Sort of. It's the sort of wobbly logic that probably made no sense to anyone other than him but it's the way he likes it.

A little while later, he stops and glances at his watch. Half an hour has slipped past whilst he's been busying himself with the shopping list and he's managed to get a quarter of the list written which can only be a good thing. Secretly he's rather pleased with himself but he's starting to realise how much stuff he needs to buy which means he'll probably be in the supermarket for a while. Not so good. He's about to open up another cupboard – he's come to the conclusion that his kitchen has a lot of cupboards. Probably too many; who needs that amount of cupboards? - when the familiar, loud and rather irritating jangle of his mobile phone filters through to the room, indicating to him that someone's calling him.

His brow furrows in confusion as he stops and places his pen down on the table before heading back into the lounge. Although he hopes that she would phone, he's not expecting her to, at least not today so he assumes that there must be some disaster at work – he really hopes that's not the case. Nick picks up his phone and peers at the bright screen, barely daring to breathe as he stares at the two words that are flashing at him, causing his mood to brighten like nothing else would as a small ray of hope stabs at him. Yvonne calling.

Immediately he accepts the call, raising the phone to his ear. "When you said you would phone, I didn't think-" he's cut off by a worried sounding voice that is most certainly not Yvonne. The voice is too young for her and sounds rather like a boy. Estimated age? Probably between fourteen and sixteen. He listens as the boy continues to speak, worry gripping him as the situation is shakily explained. The boy begs Nick to come quickly because he's worried about the woman in front of him but Nick doesn't need any persuasion, the little he's been told is enough to set alarm bells ringing in his head as waves of concern flood through him. He reassures the worried sounding teenager and manages to extract the location from him before assuring him, once again, that he won't be long and ask him to stay with Yvonne until he gets there. He just needs to know that someone is with her. The voice answers in the affirmative, saying that he will which makes Nick feel a little bit better.

Nick ends the call and dashes around the lounge, searching for his keys. He finds them in the bookcase and he picks them up before picking up his shoes that are sitting by the arm chair. Swiftly, he shoves his feet into them and he reaches for the blanket that is on the back of the chair as he becomes aware of the rain that is pelting down outside. Typical British weather. He doesn't stop to think about finding his coat as he gathers up a few items that he deems essential which include his medical bag – after all, he's only been given a little bit of information so he doesn't know whether he will need it or not and it's better to be safe than sorry. Be prepared. Now he just sounds like a scout.

He leaves his warm house a few moments later and heads out to the car, not caring that he's going to get soaked through. He just cares about Yvonne and she's out there in the surprisingly heavy rain. She's not well and this weather is only going to make things worse for her. He needs to get there quickly but safely and as he does up his seat belt and shoves the key in the ignition, he tries to mentally work out the quickest way of getting to them. If he wasn't already sure, he knows now that she's the only thing that matters to him. The phone call he has just received has cemented that in his brain. She needs him and he's damn sure that he's going to be there for her, no matter what he has to do in order to convince her that she doesn't need to push him away, she doesn't need to protect herself from him. However the fact that she asked for him fills him with a little more hope.

The car starts with a soft purring sound and as Nick begins to drive away from his house, he's hopeful that perhaps things are going to start getting better for them both. Realistically he knows that she's got a long way to go, there's a lot for her to overcome before she's anything like she used to be and of course there's always the possibility that she may never get completely back to her old self. That doesn't matter though, the only thing that does is her. Whether it's the old Yvonne, this new one that he know he needs to learn how to deal with or even a mixture of both, he's sure that, eventually, they'll be all right. There's a lot of work to do but hopefully things are going in the right direction. It won't be easy, there will be a lot of ups and downs for both of them, he is aware of that much but maybe this will go some way to showing her that he cares about her because of her and not out of some sense of duty. If it does, then there's just one thing left that he hopes will happen. That this episode will be the start of her attempting to deal with things because she does need to – that much is obvious but she needs to work that out for herself. He can't push her, he just has to be there for her and he will be despite any trials and tribulations that may arise. But the little bit of hope that he feels gives way to concern as he continues to make his way through the driving rain, knowing that the awful weather that had just suddenly appeared from practically nowhere wouldn't be helping her situation – it certainly had sounded like she was in a bit of a state. He's just got to get there and look after her, that's what she needs at the moment. She needs him and he's more than happy to offer that, no strings or expectations attached.

* * *

_We could live for a thousand years,  
But if I hurt you,  
I'd make wine from your tears.  
__I told you,  
__That we could fly,  
__'Cause we all have wings,  
__But some of us don't know why.  
__I was standing,  
__You were there,  
__Two worlds collided,  
__And they could never ever tear us apart.  
_

* * *

**Confused Nick - I hadn't actually realised just how muddled he sounded until I read this back - but confused Nick is on his way to find Yvonne. Good, yes? :P Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and if you have the time to spare, I would love to know what you thought whether it was good or bad. The next chapter will be up in due course, not actually sure when yet, soon hopefully. Thanks again for reading and any reviews would be gratefully received. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello! This has taken a little longer than I had thought but finally, it's finished. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Do feel free to let me know what you think, always happy to hear your thoughts.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Casualty belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
This chapter is dedicated to Checky.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
****Chapter 8  
**

* * *

Nick Jordan stood silently in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. Yvonne was still standing in the porch, her back to him as she stared out at the rain that was battering down, lashing against the glass. Her whole posture was tense, troubled and she honestly looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Are you coming in?" He inquired a few moments later, his voice breaking through the silence that had been present between them for a while now.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and nodded, immediately shaking herself out of the trance that she had been caught in. As she spun round to face him, he could quite clearly see the apprehension that shadowed her face, the fear that was still present in her grey eyes despite her attempts to compose herself.

A sad sigh escaped his lips as she moved towards him, slowly stepping into his house. Nick closed the door and turned back to her, gently grasping her right wrist with his left hand so that he could steer her into the lounge. Once they were standing in the middle of said lounge, he began to peel the sodden blanket away from her shoulders, halting his movements as his sharp eyes caught sight of something that he either hadn't noticed or hadn't been allowed to see whilst they had been out in the rain. Something told him it was the latter. Spots of ruby red blood stained the left cuff of the shirt that she was wearing.

"Can I take a look?" He gestured towards her hand. She frowned, confusion evident and glanced down, swiftly following his eye line. Blood was trailing down her hand, the vibrant scarlet liquid contrasting vividly with the paler, creamy colour of her skin. She really didn't know how she'd missed that.

No reply came, instead she just simply held her hand out silently. Nick took that as her way of telling him that he could have a look. He felt her gaze on him as his fingers deftly undid the small buttons attached to the cuff before he pushed the light coloured material a little further up her arm to reveal a large cut on the side of her hand.

He sucked his breath in as he examined the injury a little closer. "Looks nasty," he eventually commented, shifting his eyes to her face. "How did you do it?"

Confusion clouded her eyes, momentarily replacing the haunted, fearful look that her expressive grey orbs currently held. She remained silent as her brain flashed back through the events of the last hour or so, trying desperately to remember exactly what had happened. She could remember her chest tightening unbearably, feeling dizzy, disconnected from the world and then stumbling against the-that was it! The wall, it had to be the wall. There was no other logical explanation.

"Um, the wall. I think I caught my hand against it or something."

Nick nodded, a warm smile flickering upon his features. "Ok. Well we'd better get this cleaned up and once that's done, we'll find you something dry to wear, eh?"

She mumbled something in reply, dropping her head to stare at the floor to avoid his gentle gaze. He couldn't quite make out what she'd said and he wasn't going to waste any time worrying over it now. He had two priorities now, each as urgent as the other. First, he had to clean that cut up for her and then he had to find her something to wear. She needed to get changed into some dry clothes so that the warming up process could slowly begin.

* * *

Nick sat her down at the kitchen table, the first aid kit lying open on the bench between them. He glanced at her as he removed the items he needed in order to clean her cut up properly, alarmed to see the tears that were brimming in her eyes, in dire danger of overspilling.

"This might sting a little bit," he told her once he was gloved up and holding a sealed, sterile antiseptic wipe in his right hand. He ripped the top off of the packet and removed said wipe before curling the fingers on his left hand around her wrist, moving her hand into a position where he had easy access to the cut.

He pressed the wipe against the cut, dabbing at the drying blood carefully. Intense pain shot up her arm and an involuntary cry fell from her lips. Instinctively, she tried to jerk her wrist away from him but he kept a firm hold of her wrist, knowing that this needed to be done. The tears that she had been desperately trying to hold back finally took over and coursed down her cheeks in silent rivers as pain seared through her wrist. He muttered an apology, hating that he was hurting her but knowing that this pain was necessary. That cut needed to be cleaned up and once it was done, she would feel better. With this in mind, he continued to clean it, trying to keep his movements as gentle and tender as possible.

"There you go, all done." He finished wrapping a bandage around her hand a few moments later and secured the small knot with a piece of tape. He released her wrist and removed his gloves, squeezing her knee with his bare hand gently in an attempt to offer a little bit of comfort.

"Sorry." She mumbled, two red spots flaring on her cheeks as her eyes roamed around the room, settling on anywhere that wasn't his face. The way she had reacted to him cleaning up her cut was embarrassing to her and she couldn't bring herself to look at him, to see the concern that would be in his eyes. She was being foolish.

Nick shook his head. "Don't be." He moved his hand to her chin, his fingers extending upwards to wipe away the last of the tears that were balancing on the edge of her sooty eyelashes before they had the chance to fully escape. "Right, let's find you something to wear." He stood and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet when she accepted it.

She trailed behind him as he moved up the stairs and into his bedroom. She stood in the doorway hesitantly, unsure what she should do next. Nick took that decision for her, gently manoeuvring her so that she was sat on his bed. She watched silently, gently nibbling on her lower lip anxiously as he busied himself with finding something suitable for her to wear.

No words were exchanged between them as Nick went through his wardrobe, easily picking out a shirt for her to wear. It would be way too big on her but that didn't matter too much. It was finding her something to wear on her bottom half that was going to be difficult. He crouched down so that he could get a better view and rummaged through the heap of clothes that sat at the bottom of his wardrobe on top of several pairs of shoes, hoping that he would have something suitable. A few seconds later, his hands fell on a pair of old jogging bottoms.

Triumphantly, he stood and closed the wardrobe. He turned and passed her the bottoms and the shirt, softly telling her to go into the bathroom and get herself changed. He watched as she nodded in acceptance and stood up. She padded through to the bathroom and closed the door, sliding the lock across. He sighed and glanced down at himself, knowing that he had to get changed as well. He just hoped that she would begin to warm up once she had dry clothes on.

* * *

Even after a few hours, the weather outside was still just as abysmal as it had been for the majority of the day. Outside the comforting warmth of his house, it was icy cold. The rain battered down and howling, biting wind stung noses, cheeks, hands, any part of the body that wasn't covered if you were one of the unlucky ones that had been caught out in it. It was most definitely one of those freak storms; the sort where the weather just built and built for a few hours like music building to a crescendo and then suddenly, just as quickly as it had started, it all died down, leaving an eerily calm feeling in its wake.

It had been an odd sort of day. One that was filled with a variety of emotions, some good and some bad. He had started the day filled with a welcome happy, contended feeling but that had quickly given away to sadness, concern after she had disappeared...ran away from him, whatever you wanted to call it. In turn, that had morphed into hope once he had received the phone call and now, he just felt exhausted, drained but positive – although he suspected it was nothing compared to the myriad of emotions that she must be feeling. She was still here, she hadn't gone anywhere. She was safe and that was something he was going to be eternally grateful for. Despite the odd way the day had turned out, he certainly hadn't thought after she'd left earlier that in a matter of hours he would be digging out the blankets and the slipper socks in order to warm her up. But then, it was one of those things that nobody could foresee. He was just glad she was here.

He glanced over at the sofa, a warm smile softening his features as he took in the image that greeted him. Yvonne was lying on the sofa, curled up under what looked like a mountain of blankets but in reality, it was probably only four or five – yes, it had just occurred to him that he might have gone a little OTT on the amount of blankets he'd heaped on top of her. Just a little. He wasn't quite sure whether she was awake, asleep or pretending to be asleep. If she was awake then she certainly wasn't doing much in the way of talking and he was in two minds as to whether he should start a conversation or not. He didn't really want to in case she was genuinely was sleeping and also, he didn't want to push her too quickly. Pushing her too far before she was ready would only end badly – he'd sort of found that out already. She needed time, time to mull the events of the day over and time to warm up properly. Once she had done both of those things, well it probably was within the realms of realism to hope that she might feel up to talking. Then and only then, he might just be able to extract something, anything from her. Well that was what he hoped at any rate.

Nick moved closer to the sofa, leaning down to check on her. She was fast asleep, her fingers curled into loose fists. The expression she wore was one of peace, all traces of fear gone for now and her breathing was gentle, even. Her hair was drying slowly, soft curls beginning to form. He sat down in the nearest armchair to the sofa, his eyes staying on her as his mind wandered back through everything that had happened that day, going through the good and the bad before eventually settling on the events that had happened post phone call.

He recalled that once he had arrived, his first task had been trickier than he had originally anticipated. She had been curled up in front of a wall, her arms around her legs in a defensive position as she shook violently. Cold, fear. Both had almost certainly contributed to the almost constant trembling that had seemingly taken over her entire body. He had managed to get her to move eventually, however, and after a lot of coaxing and persuasion on his part, she had given in and shakily clambered to her feet. He had grabbed her waist firmly to steady her when it looked as though she might collapse on him before he had taken her hand and led her over to his car. She hadn't resisted, hadn't told him to get off of her like he had been expecting and although that had relieved him at the time, now that he had the opportunity to think back on it, it worried him. She had been, and still was, painfully quiet. That bothered him.

Once they were safely installed in his car, he had attempted to start a conversation with her but she had retreated straight back into her shell and had refused to speak. Instead she had chosen to answer any questions he put to her with a simple movement of her head. Nothing more, nothing less. He had persisted, hoping that he could get her to react to him with something more than just a simple nod or shake but that time, his persistence hadn't paid off. If anything, it only served to make her more stubborn about her refusal to talk. He had caught on pretty swiftly and realised that he wouldn't be getting anything out of her any time soon. It was then that he had taken the decision to get her back to his and get her warmed up. The talking, the conversation that he was hoping to have with her could wait until she was ready. Sometimes there were certain things that just had to be dealt with in their own time; they couldn't be rushed. This was one of them, that much he had been sure of.

He was pulled from his thoughts and placed firmly back in the present as he heard her stir, forgetting for the moment about everything else that had happened and just concentrating solely on her. Nick moved out of his seat and a little closer to her, ensuring that he was in her line of sight before he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged, blinking at him sleepily from underneath the mound of blankets. The resulting image was one that he found incredibly adorable.

"Do you need anything?" He questioned softly, leaning against the sofa and resting his forearms on the padded sofa arms, his gaze never leaving her face.

Yvonne shook her head, flopping back down and nestling her body back into the cosy cocoon of blankets as her eyes drifted sleepily shut once more. Nick watched with a heavy heart as she allowed herself to relax for the minutest of seconds before forcing her eyes open once more, attempting to fight against the powerful waves of exhaustion that were no doubt racing through her body.

"No, no, don't fight it. Go back to sleep, you could do with some rest."

As he spoke, he quietly shuffled round so that he was sitting next to the middle of the sofa. He carefully arranged the blankets back around her as best he could from his current and slightly awkward position on the floor, his free hand snaking around her waist and moving up to her hair. He gently combed his fingers through her soft dark hair, feeling her lean instinctively into his touch. The warmth of the room combined with the blankets and his caresses soon sent her back off to sleep and he hoped that when she awoke once again, he would be able to begin to find out exactly what had happened between her leaving his and the phone call. He just wanted to help her.

* * *

Sometime later – exactly how much time had passed, she wasn't sure – she awoke with a start, one hand immediately flying to her chest as she leant forward, trying desperately to catch her breath and alleviate the tight band that had clamped around her torso. Small fists gripped the blanket tightly as she struggled for what seemed like forever but in reality was probably only a couple of minutes at most before mercifully regaining control over her body. As her breathing came back under control and began to return to normal, she ran a hand through her dark hair absent-mindedly, ignoring the now familiar feeling of tears stinging her eyes.

Yvonne sat there for a little while longer, the blankets pooled around her legs. As she re-adjusted back to the present, she became aware of cooking smells coming from the kitchen. Suddenly curious, she pushed the covers aside and got off of the sofa, letting them fall back into place. She padded quietly through to the kitchen to find Nick standing at the hob, stirring a pan of something that smelt suspiciously like tomato sauce.

"Hey," he turned and flashed her a cheeky smile once he realised that he was no longer alone in the kitchen. Concern gripped him once more as he noticed her flushed skin and the remnants of fear in her grey eyes. He hated the thought of her struggling alone with her demons. "You're awake," he remarked, keeping his tone light as he turned down the heat so that the sauce wouldn't be ruined. Nick moved over to where she was standing, gently placing the back of his hand on her forehead, peering at her worriedly. She was ghostly pale, her skin clammy. "Are you ok?"

She nodded, a tiny smile flickering on her features in an attempt to alleviate his apparent concern for her. He had noticed but she couldn't tell him. It was just a dream, just a stupid dream.

"Good." Nick returned the smile, his hand dropping to his side. They stood there for a few more moments until it became apparent that she wasn't going to elaborate any further so he returned to his cooking. He was willing to let it go for now but he knew that he had to get her to open up to him at some point whether that be tonight, tomorrow or a little further down the track. He just wanted to help and he was hoping that once she felt a little more settled then she would slowly start to talk to him. "Hungry?"

She nodded again, once more choosing not to speak. She wasn't sure whether she could ask him and she certainly wasn't sure whether she should just go ahead and do it. She hated being so indecisive but she really didn't want to do anything wrong. Her eyes shifted to his face, looking for some indication that he would mind. When she found nothing, she timidly inched forward so that they were standing a little closer together, their shoulders brushing gently. He didn't move so she glanced at him again, chewing on her bottom lip with her teeth worriedly before deciding to take a leap of faith and see what happened. She lay her head cautiously against his upper arm, tears flooding her eyes and relief swamping her when he simply wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed his lips against her head in a show of affection, of comfort. Those little actions told her more than words ever could. In that moment, it was like they had never been apart, like the three years had just melted away or had never existed in the first place. It was like the way things had been before between them.

A peaceful silence fell over them, each of them content to stand there in silence in the other's company. Nick continued to stir the sauce, knowing that she needed some sort of comfort, reassurance right now. He was quite happy to offer that and he was just pleased, relieved that she had sought him out for that comfort rather than struggling alone. Perhaps some progress was being made but only time would tell.

Of course, she would never tell him, never admit it out loud to anyone but he just knew.

* * *

**If you have time, I would love to know what you thought. Thanks for reading. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Firstly, I know it has been an incredibly long time since I updated this - please forgive me - but the next part is finally here. You might want to read back over the last few chapters to refresh your memory to be honest. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, I really appreciate it. If you've stuck with it then an extra big thank you to you; I know I'm terrible when it comes to updating. The next part will be up sooner than this one, not sure when yet but I'm hoping it will only be a couple of weeks at the most. Hope you like it and if you can, would be great to hear any of your thoughts.  
**

* * *

**Twenty-Four Seven  
Chapter 9  
**

* * *

"Thank you." An uncharacteristically small voice whispered suddenly as she spoke for the first time in hours. The pair were currently in the lounge, Yvonne curled up under just the one blanket this time whereas Nick had opted to perch on the arm of the sofa. Both of them were wary about pushing the boundaries too much despite everything that had happened between them since she had walked back into his life. It was almost like the events of the last few hours had caused them to revert back to the way they had been with each other during that first meeting in the pub. Neither of them could explain why – they didn't exactly understand it themselves.

He immediately pressed pause on the remote, the picture stopping just as the credits for the program they had been watching off and on for the last hour or so began to roll and glanced sideways at her. "What for?"

"Coming to get me, letting me stay." She replied simply, tugging the blanket around her body a little further, searching for more warmth. "You didn't have to."

"I was worried about you," he told her honestly. "I still am."

"No need." Yvonne mumbled, shifting into a more comfortable position on the sofa and grabbing hold of the blanket before it slipped off of her and ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. "I'm fine."

Nick frowned at that, unsure as to whether he should point out the glaringly obvious – that she really wasn't fine – or not. He was loathe to; he didn't want to upset her, he suspected she had done enough of that herself already that day without him adding to her misery and he certainly didn't want an argument on his hands. He suspected that he probably wouldn't get one given her current, timid state but he knew how fiery she could be and quite frankly, he just didn't want to risk it. Or worse still, he didn't want to frighten her and cause her to run again. That would be the worst case scenario. He wasn't quite sure whether she was ready to hear it yet or not but he knew that trying to get her to talk about what had happened that day would be the best thing for her, whether or not she saw that yet. It was worth a try and if it didn't work then he would just have to find another way in so to speak. Now what should have been a simple conversation had turned into a complicated mess.

"That's the thing," he began carefully, deciding to stop dissecting it and just risk it. "I don't think you are."

She moved the blanket aside and sat up so she could see him properly in the dimly lit room. "You're not me," she shot back almost immediately, her tone giving nothing away.

Explosion successfully averted. So far. He couldn't help but feel relieved at that. "No, I'm not." He agreed, deciding to just press on with this line of conversation whilst he had her full attention, whilst she was talking to him of her own accord. "But I know you, remember? I know when there's something you're not telling me."

A sigh and a slight roll of her eyes was the only response he received but if he was entirely honest, he wasn't expecting much more than that now. She had changed, that much was becoming rather apparent the more time he spent with her. Was it expected? Probably. Was it understandable? Definitely. But that didn't mean it made it easier to deal with for either of them. The next few months at least were going to be difficult, of course they were. She had a long road ahead of her and he just hoped that she would let him stick around, let him share her troubles. He loved her, that hadn't changed and that would never change, that much he was sure of. 'For better, for worse' and even though they weren't married, surely the same principle still applied? Or was he just jumping the gun and getting a little bit too ahead of himself here? The latter was definitely possible. Nick had a feeling that it was probably best if he didn't verbalise that particular sentiment just yet.

Was he pushing her too far, too soon? He couldn't help but think that he might be but whether that was a realistic assessment of the current conversation or just him over analysing the situation, he wasn't sure? Where did he go from here? Did he continue down the potentially treacherous path of trying to get her to open up or did he just back down and leave it for now? Both could make things worse. It really was a no-win situation. What was the worst that could happen? If he continued to try and get her to talk then it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that she would eventually bite back. Or she would shut down completely and refuse to say anything more. He wasn't quite sure which one was preferable and most likely. At least with the former, he might see some spark, some fight come back into her eyes even if it was only briefly. He knew that eventually, it was possible that all he would achieve would be to make himself feel terrible for effectively forcing her to run before she could walk but if he didn't try then he was aware that he might not get another opportunity for a few days. So, with all that in mind, he decided to change track just a little bit and push her a little further to see whether she would open up or not. If she wouldn't then he was more than ready for that.

"What happened today?"

A resounding silence met his question, broken only by her shifting around on the sofa, obviously extremely uncomfortable with the direction their conversation was heading in. He didn't mean to make her feel like that but he was positive that she would feel better if he could get her to open up a little bit. However, her next words brought any thoughts that he might have had about her letting him in crashing firmly back down to the ground.

"Nothing happened." She eventually answered, her voice a little too quiet and shaky for his liking as he watched her push her little finger through a small hole she'd found in his blanket.

Nick nodded, pausing for a moment as he considered the best way to respond to her obvious lie. "Something did." He told her gently, knowing that he was stating the obvious with those two words but unsure how else to keep the momentum of the conversation going.

"It's nothing."

"If it's nothing then you wouldn't mind telling me, would you?"

Ok, maybe that wasn't the brightest thing to say. He was well aware that he was most likely teetering on the edge of the fine line between pushing her enough and pushing her too far. Part of him was still hoping, still expecting her to react in some way – their disagreements had always been fiery, both of them having a way with words – so when she didn't, it was another part of her character, her behaviour that he'd noticed had changed. Whether that was temporarily or permanently, he wasn't sure and if he wasn't already concerned for her then he most definitely was now.

Yvonne exhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly into the room. "Maybe something happened." She admitted eventually, her voice low as she averted her gaze, feeling too ashamed to look at him. "I will tell you everything that happened today Nick, honestly I will but I can't do that now. I'm just not ready. Don't push me, please?"

"Fair enough." He leant over and took her hand, squeezing her cold fingers reassuringly. As she reluctantly raised her eyes to look at him, he offered her a smile, not wanting her to feel any worse or think that he was angry or disappointed by her refusal to open up to him because he wasn't, he was far from that. He was just worried about her, desperately worried about her and it sounded awfully like a cliché but talking did help. All he wanted to do was help her in any way he could but he knew he had to let her go at her own pace. If she wanted him to leave it, then of course he would respect her wishes. For now. "When you're ready, I'm right here."

He received a small nod in reply. "Promise," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she gripped on to his hand tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's ok." He told her quietly, squeezing her hand for one final time before releasing it and watching as she curled back under the blanket, a visible shiver passing through her small frame.

The pair fell into silence for a few more moments, content in each others company before Nick spoke again, changing the direction of the conversation slightly once again. "You're ok though?"

"Fine." Yvonne answered, the word slipping off of her tongue with ease. She just hoped that if he saw through her, he wouldn't question her. She didn't want to talk about it, not tonight. So far all she had managed to do that day was thoroughly embarrass herself and she really hated the way she had reacted...the way she did react to things that would never have bothered her before the riots. Right now, all she wanted to do was forget. Forget about everything. About the events of the day. She was just glad that Nick didn't know the full extent of it, she wasn't sure if she could cope with him knowing just yet. He would just worry about her and that was something she didn't want.

He nodded, satisfied with that answer for now. He wasn't stupid, he had eyes and he could see that she was far from 'fine' but if it made her feel better to try and convince him (or herself) that she was ok then he was quite happy to let that happen. He wasn't going to press her for an honest answer – it would do more harm than good if she wasn't ready. So far he had managed to avoid any sort of disagreement, she hadn't reacted the way he had expected to and now, he just wanted to continue to avoid conflict. It wouldn't do either of them any good right now. She had told him that she would talk to him about what had really happened that day in her own time and that was good enough for him. Progress was being made, it might be extremely slow progress with the odd few steps backward but nevertheless it was still progress. That in itself was positive.

* * *

Half an hour had managed to slip by before he realised that she was being oddly silent next to him. After their conversation had finished, he had pressed play and then he had flicked the channel over to the news. But now, instead of actually watching it and taking it in like he usually would, he just seemed to be watching the headlines go round in a loop, the pictures flickering. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to fully take in what was being said on the television.

A quick glance to his left confirmed what he had suspected. She was fast asleep, gripping the blanket with her small hands as if it were a safety net or something. He noticed that she seemed to be doing that a lot; holding on to things when she slept. Last night it had been his shirt, today it was the blanket. He could only assume it was a reaction to everything she had been through and that it made her feel a bit safer, more secure. He didn't have a problem with it, he just wondered why she did it. She looked peaceful and it relieved him to see her looking calm for the first time since he had brought her back – her expression had been constantly marred with fear and uncertainty since he had picked her up earlier.

Nick sighed deeply, wondering what on earth he should do now. He couldn't leave her to sleep on the sofa for much longer, it certainly wasn't very comfortable and he didn't want her to wake up all stiff and sore. That wouldn't do her any good. They had decided whilst they were eating dinner – well, when he was eating and she had been picking at the food on her plate, her previously healthy appetite gone, agreeing with whatever he said – that it would probably be the best thing all round if she spent the night in the spare room despite the fact that they had already shared a bed with him the night before. On reflection, they had gone too fast and both of them wanted to slow everything down and take each day as it came for now without committing to anything. They weren't in the right head space to be committing to anything, they both knew that. But now he really wasn't sure whether he should go and put her to bed in the spare room or just tuck her into his so that he could keep an eye on her. He just wanted to keep an eye on her especially after their conversation but he knew that he could only do as much as she wanted him to do.

After a few moments of furious internal debate in which he had weighed up the pros and cons of both options, he decided to simply stick to the original plan and go put her in the spare room but leave the door open so that he would be able to hear if anything was amiss with her. He was a light sleeper these days so he knew that if she woke prematurely then he would probably wake as well. It did feel like he was treating her with kid gloves but given recent events, if it meant she wouldn't suffer alone with her demons then it made him feel a little happier. It was a pretty good compromise. He knew he had considered it before but he did want to see some fire come back into her. However he reckoned that would only happen once she had worked through at least some of the things that she needed to. It wasn't going to happen overnight, no matter how much he wanted everything to be ok again for her instantly. It had obviously taken time for her to deteriorate this much so it made sense that it was going to take time to put her back together again. Of course there was always the possibility that she wouldn't mind being put in his bed but he thought it was best to stick to the plan instead of trying to guess what she wanted – she never had liked people assuming they knew what was best for her, that was one sure fire away of irritating her immensely. So he turned the television off and placed the remote back down on the table before he got to his feet and moved round to where she lay, lost in a serene slumber.

Nick slid one arm under her knees, the other immediately slipping around her shoulders to support her body as he lifted her. She was light as a feather in his arms as he manoeuvred her into a comfortable position. He left the room with his exhausted bundle in his arms and carried her up the stairs, being careful not to jolt her or accidentally hit her head, legs or her injured hand against the banisters, the door frames, anything that might hurt her. He managed to get her into the spare room without any incident or further injury and he placed her in the spare bed, pulling the sheets around her. She didn't stir as he tucked her in and he just hoped that a good night's sleep would go some way to making her feel better but little did he know that a good night's sleep wouldn't necessarily be on the cards for her whether that be tonight or indeed at all.


End file.
